The Cause and Effect Saga - Book 5: A Tale of Heroes
by Faylinn Night
Summary: Against Splinter's wishes, Michelangelo and Raphael suit up as vigilantes in Leonardo's absence. Turtle Luck again tests the Hamato Clan's limits. But this time, their newest allies also face a hero's burden—including a heroine who may need Mikey's optimism more than anyone. Just who is this Starberry Girl? And why does her smirk flip his stomach? [Mikey/OC]
1. Sacrifice

**Full Summary:** Not long after Splinter sends Leonardo on a sabbatical, Michelangelo and Raphael betray their cancerous father's wishes and suit up as vigilantes. Turtle Luck often pushes the Hamato Clan's limits. And this time, even their newest allies face the question: can you withstand a hero's burden? Mikey believes they can, and there's someone new in his life who may need his optimism more than anyone. Just who is this Starberry Girl, anyway? And why does her smirk make his stomach flip? [Michelangelo x OC] [Donatello x OC] [Raphael x OC]  
 **Genre:** Family, Drama, Romance, Humor, Hurt/Comfort  
 **Rating:** Teen for mild to strong language, stressing situations, and blood/violence.

 **Author's Notes:** Hello, and welcome to the fifth installment of the _Cause and Effec_ t saga. I won't bore you with details. I just hope you enjoy the ride. Also, I would love to see the return of my Big Six. ;) BIG SHOUT OUT to _DUCKIEPRAY_. She's my BETA and soundboard, an overall awesome person. Same for _Sciencegal_. Thanks for the help, guys! Any Italian used is thanks to _Arathiana'_ s translations. :D

 **Disclaimer:** TMNT belongs to Eastman/Laird/Nick. Nia Hamato/Anders, Melody Hamato/Gray, Hugh Reese, Sophia Moretti, and any other OCs you may see belong to me. I'm in no way making any money. Thanks.

* * *

 **Chapter 01:** **Sacrifice**

New York's news sucked worse than usual for a Sunday evening. Undoubtedly because the current segment covered Agent Bishop, who had grown into a notable figure during the last half year. Hamato Donatello found the EPF leader's increasing popularity amongst the public detestable. Unfortunately, he knew better than to ignore such a powerful enemy, and thus sat on the Lair's patchwork couch while tinkering with his deconstructed Stealth Watch.

"Remember: tomorrow, May seventh, marks an important occasion for the Earth Protection Force," said May Fields from Channel Six News. She smiled amidst the brunette curls styled out of her eyes, yet the action looked bitter considering her misguided praise. "The organization's headquarters has finally been completed! I'll be joining Police Commissioner Powell in Midtown for its ceremonial opening, at which Agent Bishop will formally announce his interest in hiring new members. Police force is desired, however—"

A sharp click filled the living room before the televisions grew black. Blinking, Donatello turned towards a familiar presence he sensed beside the couch. Melody stood at the end table with a full-metal arm outstretched below her poncho, a remote nowhere in sight. Of course, Don knew she didn't need one thanks to an internal frequency transmitter. He had been the one who installed it, after all.

So, with a small grin, the mutant caught the cyborg's red and blue-gray eyes, saying, "And here you were telling me a transmitter was a waste."

"I did not feel like searching for the controller," Melody countered, monotonous despite her notable scowl.

When she rounded the furniture, her poncho clung around her toned thighs—dangerously so. Don would petition his wife's need for pants under normal circumstances. But considering the lack of company in the living room and what a battle it must've been for her to remember the poncho alone, he kept quiet until she sunk in the cushion beside him. "You didn't sleep long."

"Sleep was not part of the schedule." Clearly, Mel wanted to resist the hand Don brushed through her frazzled, chin-length hair; except a lack in energy laid her organic cheek against his neck.

"It should be," Don said. His three fingers followed the stark contrast between her bleached tips and natural auburn roots, which had grown more prominent within the last few months. While the young woman claimed disinterest in how the half-light-half-dark style looked, the Chūnin had overheard her private debates with the bathroom mirror and smiled at the memory.

"Why are you laughing?" Melody questioned, square features tense.

"No reason."

"Meaning it has something to do with me."

Don withheld a snigger at the lack of doubt in her sharp tone. "Usually does."

"Well you should focus on more important matters. And not Bishop. We have enough stress on our family without noting how far that man's claw is stretching.

"Our family." The words left Donatello somewhat lightheaded, although a jab from his wife's metallic elbow forced him back into reality.

"Forget my wording, Damn Mechanic. Our focus should be on Splinter. He won't stay in stage three forever…"

' _Right_ ,' the Chūnin thought while cringing. Regardless of how many months passed, the idea remained unsettling—so much so that the genius sometimes feigned ignorance for sanity's sake. Splinter was fine, he'd tell himself. All the master needed was rest. However, Donny was aware no lie could cure cancer.

"His chronic ailments are near unmanageable," Melody added. "If Recro-12 is not stabilized then the Chondrosarcoma —"

"Will metastasize; I know." Don's curt tone couldn't be controlled; therefore, he gripped Mel's head to keep his next words even. "Sorry. I just—I—I don't like hearing…you know."

Mel gave a nod, her body trembling below her husband's strength. "As much as it hurts, Donny, we must think about aggressive measures."

"Any more aggressive includes surgery."

"Not necessarily. His diet change, aromatherapy, and oils have maintained a relative balance. That said, a pain pump or nerve block therapy would be redundant by now."

"We should target the cancer, not manage it."

"Precisely. While home-made radiation is risky, we could develop our own Chemotherapy supported by his mutation. There's an herbal Chinese alternative to Prednisone for the side-effects."

"Chemotherapy?" Don almost gagged at how sour the sentence tasted on his tongue.

"We could also purchase the drugs on the Black Market."

"Are you serious?"

The half-blonde returned Donny's pointed stare with a listless expression. "I have done so before."

"That doesn't make it any better."

"It gives reassurance."

"How?"

"If worse comes to worse, I know who can get us what is needed."

"Mel—"

"It's coming to worse, Donatello." Mel's tone adopted an edge, heating it alongside her glare. "You favor the high road, but soon you'll have to answer a question: which do you prefer, contacting the Black Market or losing your father?"

The answer was obvious. Even so, its truth disquieted rather than eased Don's conscience when the cyborg continued.

"Our window with Recro-12 is diminishing. Fast. I thought it would lead us down a better path, yet it is more unstable than anticipated. And Nia's body…"

"She's suffering almost as much as Sensei is," Don whispered.

"Her erythrocyte count is notably low. Oxygen circulation must be minimal in her alien heritage."

"It's pretty clear the Languu rely on electricity. They might not even need red blood cells."

"It is possible. Despite the B-12s meant to stimulate blood generation, we are using more than she should spare. So the Anemia is taking a toll."

"Like we can stop her. I've tried, but she keeps…begging."

"Don." Reluctantly, Melody gained the mutant's attention, which had drifted to his wedding bracelet at some point. "Think seriously about this matter."

"I _have_ been."

"You know what I mean."

"I'll make a decision before any sacrifices are made. Okay?"

Mel retained doubts—her blue-gray eye said so. Nonetheless, she nodded, settling into the crook of Don's neck again.

Her above-average body temperature made him shudder then prompted him to draw her closer. "We'll keep working on Recro-12 with LH. Meanwhile, April can help me look into alternatives for Chemotherapy."

"But—"

Don stilled his wife. "You can't do it all, Mel. Besides, schooling with Olson takes up enough time. Contrary to what you might think, you need rest."

"Look who's talking."

"Guess you could say I've found a new respect for how my brothers feel when I'm consumed by a project."

"You work like I do."

"And I refuse to have you work more than me."

"Though I handle it better."

Don smiled, glancing down at the dismantled Stealth Watch in his grip. "I admit, I obsess. It's easy. And hard not to considering Splinter's case. However, I also admit that work suffers if you don't take a step back once in a while. For you, it's school. For me, it's…creating counter measures for the EPF. So, though you see it as stressful, keep the TV on next time?"

Melody huffed—a sign of resignation. She said nothing more as her robotic right hand covered the watch he squeezed, although he knew such actions meant support and consent.

"Thanks," he said. "I'll speak to Raph and Mikey later about the, uh, _alternatives_. That is, whenever they feel like returning…"

* * *

Hamato Michelangelo inhaled the smoggy air from New York's nightlife, reveling in its budding Spring warmth. He stood on a building close to home. Alone. But neither the repetitive drawl of city sounds nor stillness below the waning moon was a bother. Nowadays, he often acted solo, and Raphael's insistence had since brought him to terms with the idea.

' _Raphy probably thinks his new identity is too cool for me_ ,' the youngest Hamato thought while snorting. ' _Whatever. Nightwatcher is no cooler than Turtle Titan. Sure, he's got a full-body leather suit, but_ I've _got a green one. Plus a cape. With a 'T' on the back! Too theatrical, my shell. Obviously, he just doesn't wanna be seen together_.'

Which made sense when Mikey considered it. Donatello may hold a vague idea as to what he and Raph were doing because of spotty news coverage (among other pointers), but two heroic partners would be a dead giveaway. He had to remember, Splinter had banned most Topside activity ever since Leonardo left for South America.

"But I can't do that, Sensei," Mikey said, tracing the thick, black belt across his waist. "It's painful at home…"

Grim, yet true. Watching the strongest figure in your life lose a battle against his body was beyond frustrating. And scary. Not only that, Mikey couldn't help isolate the cancer like Donatello, Melody, April, or Leatherhead. He had nothing to offer the situation like Nia. And he had no support from Leo.

It was suffocating, being so helpless. Not to mention the couple love around him left him with an empty feeling. Watching Raph with Nia, even Don with Melody, always reminded him of what he lacked. And while now was a horrible time to let such things stir him, he couldn't help how envy stung his chest whenever they'd send one other knowing glances or subtly touch.

' _I must be cursed. First, Chr—Christina. Then it turns out Nia's into Raph of all turtles…I won't ever get a break, will I?_ '

Probably not; Turtle Luck often twisted matters for the worse. And try as he may to convince himself that a bachelor's life suited him, he could never fully convince himself because…he did want what his brothers had—no matter what lie he told.

' _It's hard maintaining happiness when I keep having to sacrificing it…But I can't let something small like that bother me when there are bigger problems in the works, right?_ ' Despite the truth of his thoughts, the weight on his body didn't lift. ' _Come on, Mikey; buck up! Ya can't let a poor love life drag ya down when your father's fighting cancer and most beloved little sister is—is struggling to function. I better get home, check on everyone. Hopefully, Raph's back from patrol..._ '

And so, with a firm nod and aching heart, Michelangelo descended the building then slipped through the manhole cover in the alley below.

* * *

Air came sweetly to Hamato Raphael, though not pleasantly. Breathing burned, and it didn't go unnoticed by his wife, who stared at him with a stony expression from their full-sized bed.

"Raph," she started in a tender voice.

"I _said_ it's alright," the mutant spat. Still, he faltered when turning towards the weight set beside their closed bedroom door.

"You're late.".

"An'?"

"D—don't start that, Huǒ. Please."

Raph flinched at the intimate nickname, 'fire', Nia often used for him; hating the guilt it roused as he braced himself against the brick wall.

"I stayed up since you were gunna be home early this time, but…you barely beat Mikey here."

"An' I thank ya for distractin' Don."

"Look at you; you're hardly standing!"

"Don't exaggerate." The Chūnin straightened to his full five-foot-seven height then grimaced when a sharp pain through his ribcage hunched him. "Kuso."

Not a second later, Nia conquered the cluttered room so she stood beside him, a gentle grip on his forearm protector. "You promised you wouldn't push yourself too far."

"They're just bruised ribs. I've been through worse."

"Huǒ—"

"Look, if ya're gunna call me out on this, then I'll do likewise, _Shuǐ_." Raph's use of 'water' sounded sterner than Nia's address. Then again, he only uttered the nickname during two circumstances: when they were intimate or he was frustrated. "Ya ain't one ta talk about bein' unable ta stand.'

"What's that mean?" Nia questioned. Her thick brows knitted close over her deep-set eyes, which looked glossy beyond Raph's comfort.

"Ya're swayin'."

"Am not."

"A drunk person would say the same."

"Am _not_!"

Nia beat his guarded shoulder, albeit with little effort—perhaps in fear it would unbalance him or maybe because she genuinely lacked energy for more force. The latter was the most probable reason in the mutant's book, given the lackluster of her features and light pant. Raph shook his head as she swallowed then guided his wife towards the bed while flinching in his steps. She didn't fight his lead, and when they sat, she leaned against his arm as if it were her sole support in the world.

"I was worried," she whispered.

"I know," Raph said, intertwining their fingers. The stark contrast between his leather gloves and her pale skin borderlined frightening, though the distressed state of her broken fingernails looked worse.

' _It's the Anemia,_ ' the mutant thought as his thumb rubbed hers. ' _The brittle nails, the short breath, the grumpiness—it all boils down to…'_

"Did ya give blood today?" Raphael questioned.

The human tensed. "I—it's Sunday."

"That ain't what I asked."

"You know the answer."

"An' ya know I've been tellin' ya ta cut back—less than just weekends."

"How can I?" Nia pulled away, glaring, although the act seemed more unnatural than intimidating. "Splinter-san's, _Otōsan's_ , time is running out. I—I should sacrifice what blood I can for—"

Raph cut the female off with a pointed stare. "We ain't even sure Recro-12 will _work_. Matter is, Don may need another plan at this rate. An' what will happen ta ya in the meantime? What use is it havin' both 'a ya sick?"

"I—I'm not that sick."

"Ya are; more than I'm hurt."

She couldn't fight the truth, so she glanced downwards until her thick dark hair almost shielded her face.

"I dun't want ya both ta suffer," the mutant grumbled. "Yer migraines are back. An' I gotta say, they've been hell on the electronics 'round here."

"I try to keep my energy metabolism stabilized," noted Nia through pressed lips. It seemed her husband's light jest went unappreciated.

"Nia," Raph whispered, clenching her hand tighter, "we all wanna save Sensei. But we _won't_ sacrifice ya for him."

"He—"

"Refuses yer offers; stronger than Donny. Stop for a while. Ya could take it at first, but it's been nearly three months. At this rate, ya're killin' yer body. Ya _know_ that."

She did, which is why she shook and her mouth slackened while she turned her glossy gaze upwards. Prickles like needle points crept through Raph's mind when he met her teal eyes—a familiar yet still unpleasant sensation. He ignored their nip then inhaled through the tense silence before saying,

"Ya can't put his life on yer shoulders. It ain't for ya ta bear. I'm thankful for the help, but he ain't the only one who needs ya." Raph's voice cracked near the end, regrettably. He wanted to maintain some strength for his wife, except keeping face felt impossible once the real possibility of losing her hit him.

"E—everything's such a mess," Nia said with a morbid laugh. The grip she brought to Raph's arm felt heartbreaking when she sniffled. "E—even my work at Warner-Frost is in complete disarray. I…I was hoping since Mama was talking again, I could—could gain some stable ground, but…"

"I ain't good enough?"

"It's not that, Raph."

"I know…I wanna meet yer mom too."

Nia sighed. "I was supposed to see her this afternoon."

"Ya didn't?"

"I fell asleep."

"Ta be honest, ya don't look like ya slept at all." The female smiled wryly in response to her husband's smirk, lending him enough courage to pull her backwards with him on the bed.

"I could sleep more," she said into his shoulder.

"So can I," Raph replied as his wife curled against his sore body. He grinned at the comforting sensation, kissing Nia's forehead through her bangs. He would've told her they could talk later or at least bid her goodnight; except by the time his forehead met hers, soft snores sounded from her parted lips.

' _She's exhausted,_ ' the mutant thought while closing his eyes. ' _Guess that settles that; Don 'n I need ta talk..._ '


	2. Opening

**Author's Notes:** Well, it's my birthday, so I figured 'Why not post a chapter?'

 _Sciencegal_ \- There's much more staging to be done; just you wait. Also, Leo's off on his own adventure. Wait until we get to THAT too. ;)

 _Feather_ \- Your reviews always leave me with warm fuzzies. So glad to have you along for this book too, faithful Big Six member! (I look forward to your other reviews, whenever school permits. lol) As a reward, I'll tell you that there are several great Mel moments in store. Dun, dun, dun. Prepare for many feelings. Many, many feelings.

Now onto your scheduled programming...

* * *

 **Chapter 02:** **Opening**

Hamato Nia knew she needed more rest, so her brothers' worrisome glances were unsurprising. How could she ignore the heaviness behind her eyes? It reminded her all too well of how hours of sleeping at her husband's side did little for the pain in her body. Even so, she spared a lopsided grin at Michelangelo and Donatello on the Lair's living room couch then leaned against Raphael beside her kitchen chair.

"Ya can go back ta bed," Raph said.

Frowning, Nia peered upwards from where her cheek met Raph's outer thigh. She glanced past his crossed arms to the stern, amber eyes peeking over them, saying, "I'd be restless."

"Still, you don't have to sit through this," added Mikey while Don muted the news displayed on their largest television.

His tone sounded every bit as displeased as the hothead's, meaning the brothers shared a mutual concern over her. While the thought formed a stronger smile across her lips, the young woman remained seated; and focused partly on the pebbled texture of her husband's thigh, instead of several pulsing jabs through her temples.

"How's your nausea?" Donatello asked. He sent a glance towards Raph that spoke volumes of uncertainty.

Nia felt the hothead tense at her side, so she placed a palm against his leg. "I—it's not so much nausea right now as it is a migraine," she said through a long sigh.

"Do you need Motrin?"

Nia shook her head at Mikey.

"You sure? Not even Chamomile or K'ekchi Tea?"

"Guys, I'm _fine_."

"I wouldn't use the word 'fine'," Raph muttered.

"Look"—a curt sigh from Nia earned her clans' attention—"it isn't pleasant, but I can handle it. I spent years living with similar anemic symptoms. Actually, I'm sort'a surprised how normal it seems."

"Feelin' miserable shouldn't be normal." Raph kept focused on the mute news cast—an action which likely prevented him from snarling and choking back frustrated tears.

"I feel worse when everyone dwells on it," Nia continued. "That's why I tricked Daddy all those years ago. So, please, just…just stand by me and let me do this."

The plea left the artist as nothing more than a whisper, yet its strength silenced the protests that had begun growing around her. Nodding their consent, the Hamatos then addressed the television.

"May seventh," Don said, "Bishop's day."

"How unfair," Mikey spat. "We're the ones who saved the world, protect the city, and defeated Shredder. Where's our headquarters?"

"It's all political manipulation, Mike," the purple-masked Chūnin countered before the volume rose.

"Besides," said Raph over the new chatter, "I wouldn't want a place that could be so easily targeted."

"Guess that's true," Mikey added.

Everyone grew quiet once the video feed switched from a crowd of nicely-dressed police officers to May Fields from Channel Six News. The brunette reporter beamed in excitement during her close up, introducing herself until the camera panned outwards. When Agent Bishop and a round-figured man waved like on parade, one of Raph's arms reached Nia's shoulder, so she sent him a thankful smile.

"The thrill mounts here on the outskirts of Union Square with the official opening of the Earth Protection Force Headquarters. Behind me, you can see the building's pure grandeur, and I, May Fields, have been granted the lucky privilege of a pre-opening interview. Which"—the brunette flipped a section of wavy hair over her cardigan then eased sideways, the camera following—"I can finally address. Good afternoon, Agent Bishop and Commissioner Powell."

"Good afternoon, Miss Fields," said the round figure in all familiarity. His gloved hand rose towards the tie of his blue and gold police uniform, yet fell just as quick—almost like it were unacceptable behavior for the leader of New York's finest.

"Tell me, Commissioner, how do you feel right now?"

Grinning beneath his fat wrinkles, Powell faced the reporter who stood at his height and squared his sloped shoulders. "The expression can only be described as inexplicable anticipation."

"Many of us feel likewise."

As the Commissioner chuckled, Mikey's caustic scoff sounded.

"And you, Agent Bishop, Sir?"

Bishop sent the woman a smile, its vividness unsavory to Nia's standards. "Likewise. Although, I am also a bit nervous, to be honest."

"Dear God," Raphael muttered. But despite the feigned coyness, everyone held their tongue as Miss Fields continued.

"Understandable. The project has been in progress since late November, so we have high expectations. It's rather astounding, though, how you constructed a fifteen-story structure of this magnitude within five mere months."

"Call it a testament of the EPF's tenacity and priorities," Bishop said with a low chortle. "We work hard for our goals. _Very_ hard. So the moment we were granted funding by the state, the last thing my organization wanted was to disappoint the people. We announced last October that our goal is to care for this city. To do that, this institute is needed."

Miss Fields nodded vigorously. "It's been a hot topic ever since. Many contractors were brought into the project, but—correct me if I'm wrong—most of the work was done by your own operatives?"

"Internally, yes. I have well-rounded agents with varying skills—including programming and architecture."

"Amazing. All that on top of pursuing the Little Red cases in December."

"We strive for the best, Miss Fields."

"And the best is met," added Commissioner Powell, his voice strong. He flashed the camera a grin that was soon directed at the reporter. "While the Little Red Robberies led into a cold trail during the New Year, our months of working alongside Agent Bishop have been rewarding. New theft contingency plans are now in effect, as well as state-of-the-art security in valuable places. And he has not given up on those lost in the city."

"Lost?" Miss Fields furrowed her thin brows.

"Remember our talk at the City University?"

"The one that was interrupted?"

"Security apologized for that. But yes. The woman brought up a valued point: we should take a higher interest in all our citizens."

"Is that why EPF numbers are increasing around the city?"

Bishop's prideful stance grew rigid. Maybe he did so because the question seemed more like an accusation. Which Nia couldn't understand. Didn't May Fields support Bishop?

"Forgive me," Miss Fields said, her chuckle weak. "I meant, there are several EPF Hubs in place already—checkpoints to monitor suspicious activities. Should we expect more or less of these, given the opening of your headquarters?"

"Hopefully, not too many more." Bishop's reply was unexpected, to say the least, and Nia straightened herself while the Hamato brothers glared at the television. "My organization isn't meant to smother nor outnumber. Protection lies, expectantly, in the valued hands of the NYPD. The EPF is simply…the next stage of protection. A net for when matters get terribly out of hand."

"But we hadn't had a similar incident since the Hallows' Eve Demon."

Against her will, Nia held her breath under the knowing stare Agent Bishop gave the camera. It was quick, subtle from above his sunglasses, yet its impact roused shakes from the artist that couldn't be helped. Raphael shifted so he no longer stood beside Nia's chair, and when he knelt to wrap his large arms around her shoulders, she almost sobbed from nightmarish memories.

"That name ain't no more fittin' for ya than 'monster' is for me, a'right?" he whispered in her ear.

She offered a slow nod, though the manner in which Bishop addressed Miss Fields caused the television to flicker black for a good five seconds. "The Hallows' Eve Demon is not the only danger lurking in this city. My headquarters will prove as much. With reliable help from new applicants, those who participate will witness a new world, new _possibilities_. The EPF is prepared to usher them in. If they are prepared to enter, that is."

"Well?" Miss Fields cried into her handheld microphone, although her attention focused on the crowd rather than the men beside her. "Who here is prepared?"

A sickening amount of praise erupted behind the camera, which then switched feeds to a dense crowd. Police men and women cheered in the closed-off streets. They jumped, whistled, and hooted, tossing their hats in the air as if in a dance club. The news didn't switch back to Bishop, Miss Fields, and Commissioner Powell until the bustle died. By then, the duo stood behind a line of thick, red ribbon at the building's entrance.

"Our esteemed Commissioner seems rather excited for this part," said Miss Fields, amusement apparent in her grin.

"I have always been one for the classics," the round man retorted. In his gloved-hands he held an oversized pair of scissors, and after Bishop's nod he poised the ribbon between its two long blades.

"Would you be against everyone counting down the ceremonial ribbon cutting?"

"Not at all, Miss Fields."

"Then let's do this together. One,"—the whole audience chimed in—"two, and...three!"

More cheers rose from the street as the cut ribbon fluttered to the wide, concrete porch. However, for Nia, its fall signified everything except security. Where Commissioner Powell felt joy, where Bishop felt successes, Nia harbored dread. And while the police howled in acceptance, she clung to her husband's arms, keeping care not to harm any Lair electronics by inhaling steadily.

"At this rate, we won't be able to travel Topside without extensive precautionary measures," Donatello said while Bishop congratulated the Commissioner.

"You have the Stealth Watches you're working on, right?" asked Michelangelo—a strained action.

The genius shook his head. "Soon, even that may not be enough."

"You gotta think higher thoughts, Donny! We've gone this long helping the city. We can't let them down just because Bishop—"

"I'm going to stop you right there," Don interjected. His stare was hard, like Splinter when his sons spoke out of term. "The city isn't our concern right now. We won't patrol again until Leo returns. Besides…Sensei needs us here."

"No, Sensei needs _you_ here."

Quick, Don's wide mouth clamped shut.

The orange-masked mutant stood from the couch then spared Raph a glance, saying, "Everyone else can help, even Nia. Raph and I? We're no good when it comes to science and health."

"That doesn't mean you're useless."

"I never said we were. It's just…" Mikey sighed. "Being here is as suffocating as being Topside with the EPF. Least up there we could do something."

"You know you shouldn't."

Mikey did, which is why he ducked his head. "Wh—what if there were other people to help?"

"You mean like that one girl who's been showing up on the news? Or that, uh, Nightwatcher character?"

"Yeah"—the tension from Mikey and Raph cut through Nia's mind like a dull blade—"them."

"If they want to help in our absence, let them," Don replied as the young woman flinched. "You shouldn't get involved, though. It's dangerous."

"Yeah, 'cuz we ain't used ta danger." Raph's curtness earned a glare over the couch, though the pain behind it was apparent.

"This isn't my decision, Raph."

"Yet ya're enforcin' it."

"Because our father has enough to worry about without his remaining sons running through EPF territory."

"They don't own the city," Mikey said. When Don faced him, he offered a sheepish grin then shrugged.

"I want to help too, guys. But we can't. So, for Sensei's sake, please keep away from trouble."

"Fine," Mikey told the sighing genius—a lie. "We won't do anything. Guess we'll continue getting city updates from Hugh and April then."

"That's right." Nia spoke before she realized it. Her migraine tainted her tone, so she offered Don and Mikey a grin when their gazes softened. "H—Hugh's at the opening, isn't he?"

Mikey nodded, crossing his arms while glancing back at the television. "And I bet I know just how he feels too."

* * *

The dense crowd surrounding the Earth Protection Force's Headquarters was maddening—to say the least. Its cheers were directed towards a small trio outside the stark-white building, and Hugh Reese found himself in its midst.

Not by choice, surely. If matters had gone his way, he would've watched the ceremony from the comfort of his town house, where he could better endure his wife's opinionated ranting. Unfortunately, NYPD's Commissioner made it mandatory that all Manhattan Precincts attend, so he could only roll his eyes towards the cloudy, afternoon sky when Jeffrey Powell and Agent Bishop shook hands below a twenty-foot tall arch.

"I swear, May Fields is so stupid," a deep voice said by Hugh's left shoulder.

While the African-American agreed with the blonde who glared ahead, he couldn't help sending Blaine Williams a lazy stare, rubbing the bottom of his trimmed goatee out of habit. "She doesn't know any better, Man."

"I'll say," added a second voice. Donna Sloan's usual nasally quality was accentuated by remnants of a cold, and she sniffed before continuing on Hugh's right side. "I don't know as much about Bishop as you seem to do, Hughy, but I know an untrustworthy face when I see one."

"Don't call me 'Hughy'," noted Hugh, flat.

Blaine sniggered, yet his attention deviated when a broad-shouldered man in the line ahead turned around.

"Donna, no one cares for your nicknames," he said with a snort from his long, Grecian nose. Hugh almost laughed at how stiffly the tanned officer moved; although Noah McGinnis usually emanated pure manliness, he now resembled an overinflated blue balloon in his formal wear.

Donna, in turn, hopped forward, grinning while she flipped her dirty blonde braid over her shoulder. "I know you don't mean that, Noah Boa."

"Yes, I do."

"Act your age, Donna," said Blaine. He regarded the female blonde like he would one of his daughters—which, when Hugh thought about it, she behaved a lot like.

"Sorry; didn't realize I was friends with old timers."

"Hugh and I are barely over thirty."

"Past your twenties. Old."

"At any rate," Noah interjected, "I can't believe we weren't excused. Don't we see enough of these guys at the precinct?"

"Apparently not," answered Hugh, grimacing. He glanced at the concrete porch where Bishop and Powell conversed and noted that the press had finished their segment. May Fields was no longer in sight, though the crowd remained.

"What's going on?" Donna questioned, standing on her tiptoes.

"Thank you all for staying," Jeffrey Powell told the present officers. His form jiggled with the power from his voice, and Hugh brought a hand to his flat stomach as the Commissioner continued. "I would like to announce that, as of today, EPF applications are open for NYPD personnel. Later, it will be open to the general public, but we are hoping for transfers soon. Many positions and opportunities are available, so, please, take a look inside the lobby and fill out a form if you can."

"This is by no means a forced or full conversion," Bishop added over the crowd's soft rumblings. "There are even positions where you can work for both the NYPD and EPF part-time. Remember, we are in collaboration, not competition. As such, the EPF members stationed in your precincts are now a permanent change. The Commissioner and I have talked it over, and many have expressed consent for this decision. They have equal to less influence in the precincts as you do, so no one is trumped. However, they are trained for special circumstances, should they arise."

Donna snorted. "Man, is he good with words, or what? Guess this means we still have to be careful around work. How annoying."

Hugh watched his friend shake her head then scowled at the broad backside of their boss, Inspector Wendell Erb. The fifty-one-year-old stood a little ways from Noah, and clearly disagreed with the declaration. As Bishop rambled on about perks and conditions entailed in an EPF position, he twisted his head with a scoff then flashed a look over his shoulder. It was an obvious warning—directed at Hugh and his three co-workers.

The detective gave a sheepish look in return. He couldn't and wouldn't do much more. After all, Donna still held an EPF soldier prisoner. And he had no idea where…

* * *

 **A/N:** Don't worry, that once forgotten EPF member does play a part in this story. ;)


	3. Separation

**Author's Notes:** Where are my faithful reviewers from ' _Hollow Hearts'_? I miss you so. *lone tear* Anyways.

 _Sciencegal_ \- That's a good goal. And you know you love Bishop. ;)

 _WOLFJADE28_ \- Ello there! Glad this has got you hooked somewhat. I have many twists and falls ahead, so stay tuned. :D And I guess I can be nice and say...read the story to find out. *punched* Sorry, but I want to keep everyone guessing about everything. What fun is giving away secrets? ;)

Now enjoy!

* * *

 **Chapter 03:** **Separation**

Glancing across unfinished pharmaceutical projects, Hamato Melody spotted her life mate Donatello. Tall and dressed in an altered lab coat fit for his mass, the turtle mutant stood below bright lighting that almost whitewashed the brick niche he occasionally traveled. It was common for him to deliberate with his old friends: April O'Neil and an imposing crocodile creature named Leatherhead. However, Mel hated how heavy textbooks fixed her to secluded areas on one side of Leatherhead's custom lab—especially when Don and April would talk for hours on end.

' _I am acting like a jealous school girl,_ ' she told herself. Still, she noted the closeness April insisted she share with Donny. Their arms touched before April leaned into the male as she pointed out something in a book.

"Melody, my friend, you are giving way to anger." Leatherhead's voice rumbled like thunder yet retained its subtleness.

The cyborg glanced at the deep impressions her robotic fingers left in the metal table at which sat. Then, she met the behemoth beside her. Just over seven feet tall, he wore a torn lab coat and a kind smile across his snout. Though another word for it could be intimidating—if she were the kind to be intimidated.

The bipedal croc knew as much, so he showed more teeth as his grin grew so wide, it met his yellow eyes. "The feeling arises suddenly, does it not? And with little reason."

"Rage," she confirmed, monotonous.

"Even when you know the cause is the simplest of things, sometimes it cannot be prevented."

"Nor controlled."

Leatherhead chuckled—a powerful action that resonated in his large chest.

"Why do you call me that?" Mel didn't think her question to be a jarring change, but the croc blinked in surprise.

"Call you what?"

"I have done nothing to earn the title of friend."

"Sometimes a title is not earned. It grows."

"Grows because I am Donatello's mate?" Partly, the question was a joke; yet another part of it held truth, so she studied the massive mutant carefully—like the tiniest flinch across his thick, bumpy skin could reveal an answer.

"Sometimes, you ask redundant questions, friend," Leatherhead replied when his smile resurfaced. His bright eyes captured the cyborg against her will and she remained silent while he continued. "You sensed it when we first met, right? Living in a constant state of precarious balance, one learns to detect likewise souls. It is not something we train ourselves for, we simply know. Because we know ourselves."

"And realizing you are not the only one facing such a constant war is somewhat…"

"Comforting."

Melody's vision dropped to the dented table.

"I call you 'friend' because I know you understand the struggle. And because you are Donatello's mate."

Against better judgment, Melody sniggered. It felt and sounded awkward, since the action was so rare, but Leatherhead rested a clawed hand over her right shoulder's metal plate in comfort.

"Trust me," he said, "I know how surreal it can seem, the thought of friendship. There were times where all I cared about was revenge, where I let the anger consume me."

Despite how calmly he spoke, an underlying hate lit Leatherhead's tone on fire. However, that was not why Mel stiffened. Her mind rushed with thoughts of Black Lotus, her change, Doctors Stephens and Lombardo so quickly that the memories stole all her oxygen.

" _Black Lotus' purpose is to bloom in the darkness and rise as an unexpected beauty."_

Melody had let that darkness engulf her once, before Donatello broke through it. Her body shook at the realization, and she forced her gaze on the impressive five-inch claws beside her neck to keep the demons away.

"That rage reoccurs sometimes," the croc mutant added. "Fortunately, it is easier to bear. The Hamatos have taught me a sense of self-worth. They helped me become more than an animal seeking violence, even when I felt I did not deserve them. For that, I am thankful."

"Y—you have felt you do not deserve them?" Mel couldn't bring herself to look up; her voice already cracked.

"Yes. There was a point where I hurt Michelangelo terribly. I thought…I thought I had killed him. And I tried pushing them away. But in spite of my flaws, they held strong. They showed me I _did_ need their friendship, to keep from becoming a monster once again."

How strange. Leatherhead understood more than Melody had ever expected, and she was helpless against the urge to glance at Donny. The Chūnin rubbed his thick neck in frustration, tugged at his coat's collar—an endearing sight. She was there with him. He wanted her. And despite their work's grueling circumstances, her chest swelled with gratitude and relief at taking part in it.

"Demons are best conquered alongside friends rather than alone, right, my friend?"

Mel directed a grin towards Leatherhead, though remained quiet.

"Kuso; the anti-bodies just won't stabilize!" Donatello cried. His sharp tone preceded a soft bang against something metallic and diminished his mate's smile until her usual listless expression returned. When Mel stood from her seat, she noted the scowl Don wore while nearing her. He stopped at an open notebook beside her school work on the table then crossed something out in the dense mass of words and diagrams.

"Don't get frustrated now; we have a direction," April said. The twenty-nine-year-old glanced over the trio, sparing Melody a pointed look before approaching Don with animated arms. "We know IgR is hyper-dependant on a particular wavelength. Electricity activates them."

"Electricity activates all life," noted Mel dryly. She didn't flinch at the green eyes that narrowed at her; she looked away only because Don groaned.

"Even so," he added, arms crossed, "the energy we generate with batteries doesn't cut it. The cells always resort to fractionation then decay. While Hemolysis is natural, this…is far too violent."

"The alkaline solutions are the worst."

While the action was clearly painful, April nodded towards Mel. "Their output isn't…natural enough. Of course, the neurons in Nia know the right ions to release, in the right sequence. We need to simulate that process perfectly."

"Trick the blood."

"More so. It needs to act like Splinter's body is hers. Really, I—I don't get how Recro-12 worked with—" The redhead cut herself short, gaze falling on Donatello as she brushed side-swept bangs from her face.

"We don't understand either," the genius said in an undertone. "But it's possible. Hell, even _Bishop_ figured it out. Perhaps we can mix my blood with the sample taken from Nia last Sunday."

"You think that will make a difference?"

Don faced his mate—an action filled with determination and hurt. "The Mutagen is present in me. So is Recro-12. The samples you took in January decayed soon after you ran it through the ultracentrifuge then tested a low current through it."

"Which goes to show how fragile _your_ blood is now."

"It could be a trade-off for the enhanced healing. And slight speed."

"And means you should probably avoid being electrocuted."

Don blanched. "Stop worrying, Mel. Instability doesn't matter right now. So…maybe it's time I sacrificed as much as Nia has."

"You sacrifice enough," Melody whispered while gripping her metallic knees.

"But he's the only one here who's lived through Recro-12, right?" April's question lingered through the atmosphere like a low-hanging cloud, bringing with it turbulent apprehension that drew Mel's eyes downwards. "The drug isn't in you anymore. And since Kaiya's barred, it makes sense to study him as thoroughly as Nia. Especially if Chemotherapy is a side priority."

"So we should start tests now," Donatello said, firm.

Mel hated the thought, but she also couldn't refute the logic. Therefore, she nodded when the purple-masked Chūnin turned to a shelf of syringes, her breath as thick as water. She could only hope one thing went right today: that Splinter was resting as requested.

 ** _000000_**

Splinter heaved a sigh. He should not be up, he knew. However, he was beginning to feel at one with his bedroom's futon.

In recent weeks Michelangelo had jested about how a permanent indent of his body resided along the bed, and the joke's reality left the master embittered. He was sick, not immobile or handicapped. And those around the Lair who acted otherwise fueled the frustration he harbored over his new weakness.

' _They mean well,_ ' he reminded himself while leaning against his gnarled cane. ' _Melody-san is the worst of all, surprisingly. I can sense the apprehension in her Chi when she watches me during my daily exercises and she scolds me the most, like…like Leonardo would do. Funny; when I think about it, the two share many traits in common. Perhaps that can aid them through a real relationship when he returns._ '

It could happen, although the process would be a grueling. Even Splinter was unsure what mindset his eldest son would process upon returning. Given the amount of stress the Jonin had to endure the year previous, it was possible he could return colder than when he had left. Perhaps indifferent or resentful. Only the father's firm belief in his child kept him from fearing the worst.

Deep down, Splinter knew fearing would be pointless: Leonardo's character was too strong.

So, releasing all worry with a second sigh, the mutant rat forced his thoughts aside. Movement caught his eye soon after, when he noticed a figure on the living room couch. His joints burned at the pace he maintained to round the couch, but he ignored their pleas to stop until he stood before his youngest son.

"Michelangelo, you are awfully quiet," he noted. The orange-masked Chūnin puffed his cheeks out, not lifting his head from a collection of crumpled papers spread across the coffee table. Their familiar Kanji left Splinter's already-sensitive stomach in knots, yet he maintained composure while sinking into the couch's free cushion. "You are reading Leonardo's letters again."

"Can't help it," Michelangelo replied, low. "Don, Melody, and Ape are at Leatherhead's lab and Nia's working at the foster care center. What other company do I have?"

"Where is Raphael?"

"It's sundown. Probably left early to escort Nia."

"I see." Splinter poised his staff closer, so he could rest his chin on it while sending his companion a soft smile. "Then will I not suffice?"

The younger mutant spun his head in obvious alarm. "I didn't mean—"

"I know."

Michelangelo paused to run a large down his face. Then, he leaned back in the couch seat after gripping one, short letter. "Sorry, Sensei."

"Anxiety does cloud the mind. I understand."

"You have more to be stressed about than me, but I—I can't help feeling things would be more bearable if—" The mutant hesitated, glancing upwards.

"If what, my son?" Splinter spoke carefully for encouragement.

Even so, Michelangelo's blue eyes averted to the letter—as if he was ashamed. "Our world has changed a lot within a year," he continued in a grim undertone. "We've been through hell. Black Lotus. The Summers. Kingston. Bishop. Meeting Hugh? I mean, when you think back on it, our world _has_ been turned upside down. Raph and Don are 'married'. Leo is on sabbatical. And…I feel like I'm drifting."

"I cannot tell you how hard it has been to watch you endure these troubles," Splinter added through thick gulps. "While you brothers have pushed against one another in your pain, the divide could never keep you apart."

"I'm not talking about that. Not fully."

"Then what do you mean?"

"Things don't feel the same…"

Splinter could tell by how Michelangelo's finger traced the letter's kanji that he would continue, so the master kept still, attentive.

"We used to be like the Three Musketeers, except with, ya know, four of us. We did everything together and I was happy. Don't get me wrong, I'm glad Raph and Don found someone. I'm thankful we met Nia, Hugh, even Melody. But…Raph's so worried about Nia's Anemia that he sticks to her like glue when they're home. And Don and Mel are always researching. They won't take a break with me. And Leo…his letters are so erratic that I can't tell where his mind is anymore. That aside, he isn't here…"

"Separation." The word left Splinter as a whisper, though it felt heavy. When Michelangelo shrugged, the father brought a paw to the mutant turtle's forearm, gripping it gently despite a deep pain in his chest. "You never could bear such troubles. Once, when you were young, Leonardo fell ill with a high fever."

"He was always getting sick," the younger mutant grumbled.

Splinter was pleased by the upward twitch of his son's mouth, an expression of fond reminiscing. "And you worried for him, like you are now while pouring over his letters. I warned you against staying close, yet you would not listen. Thus, you caught his fever."

"I remember that. Didn't I get dehydrated?"

"Hai. Leonardo felt so guilty that he never left your side. You both worked hard to care for one another in your weakest time. Such is the kind of love which ties you brothers together. Age and experience will evolve your relationships, but that is life. You will never stop being brothers."

"I know, Sensei. But part of me worries. What if Leo comes back and he wants us to stay underground forever? Wh—what if the Phantoms are done for good? I can't imagine a life where I can't help."

"My son"—Splinter's burning paw tightened on Michelangelo—"please, endure. Your team is scattered, not disbanded."

"Doesn't feel that way."

"Instead of looking at what once was and is not, currently, you should look to what can be."

For a long moment Michelangelo kept quiet, his wide mouth pursed. Then he said, "Crazy rat say what now?"

The wizened master chuckled. "Your brothers are busy. Yet they will return in time, when your team is forged anew. Instead of focusing all your energy on the negativity, you should work on strengthening other relationships while you can."

"Well…I have been begging Hugh to hang out."

"I am sure he needs a break from his troubles as well."

"Oh! I wonder if he can bring Kaiya along. Haven't seen her in a while."

"Now there is a spirit in desperate need of your company."

"Who doesn't need their daily dose of Vitamin Mikey?" Michelangelo posed strangely while rubbing his short chin. After a snigger, he faced his father with wide blue eyes behind his orange mask, his expression alit by new energy. "Y—you'll let me visit them?"

Nodding was difficult, though Splinter managed it. "I trust you will act responsibly?"

"Of course. I'm gunna go call Hugh now. Thanks, Sensei!"

Splinter offered a weak nod before his son jumped over the back of the couch and animatedly punched buttons on his Shell Cell. The excitement filled him with a warm contentment that allowed him to gather Leo's letters and forget how his bones burned.

* * *

 **A/Ns:** Things _seem_ a little slow now, but trust me. This is all important set-up and reflection. Anyone who's read my stuff is aware I slowly bring you to the top then let you fall down an obstacle course. LOL. Until next time. Review? ;D


	4. Gang Wars

**A/N:** Did someone call for some Mikey and Hugh time? Well here you have it-now with a little Kaiya twist! LOL Gosh, I love this trio. :P

WOLDJADE28 - I have much in store, so prepare yourself. And thanks for the reviews. Keeps me motivated. :D

 _ZathuraRoy_ \- So this will be a new experience: waiting. Hope I don't torture you too badly. ;)

 _Sciencegirl_ -Hugh and Mikey = love

 _Feather_ \- April and Melody are a whole other beast. Ei. As for science writing. Oh. My. Gosh. It's been a pain. And all I can hope is that it's passable. XD

* * *

 **Chapter 04:** **Gang Wars**

Michelangelo released a low whistle through Central Park, wide gaze set on the four-foot blonde ahead of him. "Impressive, Kai! Is that your limit?"

"Kind'a," the seven-year-old answered under the bright moonlight. She flashed a toothy grin to prove her ease, yet didn't lower her arms—much to Detective Hugh's displeasure.

"Am I done being a weight lift?" the African-American asked. His body laid bored-stiff over Kaiya's wavy pigtails like a plank, long arms crossed, and he sent a look in the mutant's direction when Kaiya giggled.

Mikey could only join in the laughter; Hugh's humiliation paled when compared with the sight of a little girl parading a six-foot man over her head as if he were a baton.

"Alright; enough!" Hugh fought for freedom while growling. Flailing caused Kaiya to drop him in alarm and the man groaned on the grassy clearing seconds later.

Mikey crouched down, smiling at the man's cringe with his elbows resting on his kneepads. "You were better off imitating an awkward ice skater."

"Why don't you try it next time?" Hugh snapped.

"I—I can't," added Kaiya timidly. "He's too heavy."

"That's alright, Dudette. Maybe you'll grow stronger as you age."

"Or maybe two-twenty is her max." Sitting up, the detective flinched then sent the duo a flat look.

"You're over two hundred pounds?" questioned Mikey as he offered the man help. His three-fingered hand was swatted away, however, so he backpedaled when Hugh floundered to his feet.

" _Excuse_ me!" the curly-haired man retorted, pitch high with offense. "I was wheelchair bound for two months, out of work for four, and been under great stress since. Of course I've put on weight!"

Slowly, Mikey sent Kaiya a sidelong glance. "And have apparently started PMSing."

"What's PMS?" Kaiya's amber eyes squinted then widened when Hugh hit the Chūnin's shoulder.

"Nothing, sweetie," the detective said in controlled disdain.

Mikey met his brown-eyed glare with a smile then shrugged.

"Oh"—Kaiya sounded unsure yet disinterested—"okay. So, what do we do now? I…I'm not going home, right?"

"Depends," Mikey drawled. "Got anything more to show me since two weeks ago?"

"My speed!"

"Sounds good. But do you know the first rule about running?" The orange-masked mutant winked, bending down so he could meet the pale child's blank stare. "Always do warm-ups. Trust me."

"How do I warm up?"

Mikey hummed. With searching eyes he scanned the Central Park clearing the trio had invaded not long ago, and paused at a narrow pond that divided the area from another. Its banks were mostly even on both sides, free of encroaching trees, and since May rain had yet to settle in, it should be dry enough not to sink.

"I want you to stretch then jog along The Pool."

"The 'pool'?"

"See the water several yards ahead?"

"Uh-huh."

"That's called The Pool. It leads into The Loch, but I don't want you going that far. So just go a little ways up then down. Okay?"

The blonde gave a firm, excited nod. Perhaps too excited; she forgot to stretch altogether then immediately started jogging, not once glancing over her shoulder. Before she reached the bank, Hugh approached Mikey's side, his serious aura stifling the mutant's chuckle.

"Thanks," the human said lowly. "Although Blaine wants to think otherwise, I know it's good for Kaiya to explore her…abilities."

"They're part of her," Mikey replied while watching the seven-year-old. "It can't be helped; like Nia, like Donny. I'm surprised you got permission, honestly. Blaine rarely concedes."

"He can be stubborn."

"Boy, do I know my share of likewise people."

"Do both of them happen to be involved with the color red?"

Michelangelo grinned. "Maybe."

"Thankfully, Blaine's caving faster than Gavin. I argued visits like these would be best—better than any psychology work by Doctor Vigue."

"A psychiatrist at the age of seven. That's just…"

Hugh sighed. "She's started school again, despite everything. Her night terrors have died down, but she sleeps better when I speak about you."

"I do have a therapeutic effect on others."

"Sometimes. When you aren't invading their house in the middle of the night."

"That was once."

"And Marina chewed me out for it."

"She sounds like a real character." Mikey's grin widened as Kaiya turned at a sapling to jog back along the bank then spared Hugh a glance. He looked solemn, from what the mutant could tell—a clear indicator of the detective's conflict.

"You have no idea how hard it was pleading for her blind belief in December."

"Guess she isn't someone you want us to meet?"

"Far from it. I—I'd love for you to know one another."

"Except?"

"I have no idea how she'd take you guys."

"Really?"

"Fifteen years of marriage and she still surprises me. Things could go either really good or really, _really_ bad."

"I see…" Pausing, the Chūnin sent his companion a weak smile. "Sorry we dragged you into our secret."

"Wasn't your fault so much as it was Casey's." Hugh spoke flatly, yet his honey brown eyes sparkled like the memory was exciting. "I have no regrets. Though troubling at times, I feel like I'm on the ultimate good side. You Hamatos are something to be admired."

"Aw, shucks." Playfully, Mikey shoved the man's shoulder, earning a push in return. "Unfortunately, Team Hamato is on ice until Leo returns."

"You sure? Because there have been some crazy characters popping up in the middle of these gang wars."

"Why the suspicion?"

"Gee, I wonder."

"The Phantoms always work in a group. Those guys are solo."

"Sure."

Under Hugh's dry stare, Mikey offered a crooked smile. "Seriously, we're on total lockdown. That said…if you have more information since your call after the EPF opening, I'd be willing to hear it."

"You're terrible at this," Hugh remarked in amusement.

"Says you."

"Can I be done with warm-ups?" It felt like Kaiya had appeared from thin air, though Mikey knew it only seemed so because of his distracted mind. He jumped at how close the four-foot blonde stood by him, her mouth downturned in a pout.

"If you insist," he said.

"So now what?"

"Now comes the running part." Kneeling, Michelangelo rested his hands on Kaiya's shoulders—a stern yet gentle action. "From here to The Pool's bank, I want you to run as _fast_ as you can."

"R—really?" Kaiya licked her lips then glanced at Hugh with nervous eyes. "I…I won't get in trouble?"

"Not here, Dudette," Mikey added. His words roused a hope in the girl's amber gaze that fluttered his stomach, and he grinned to show support.

"So…run all out?"

"Exactly. Show us what you've been hiding this past month."

Anticipation animated Kaiya like Michelangelo had never seen before, yet she still required a nod from Hugh before readying herself. Oddly, she backed up further than the spot Mikey pointed at for a start, almost a good ten yards. The mutant flashed Hugh a look. It didn't remain on his face for long.

A tempestuous force whipped against his bare body, arousing goosebumps as his attention caught the blonde barreling forward. Clumps of uprooted grass were left in her wake, as if her feet weighed as much as an elephant's, and she reached The Pool in mere seconds. She squealed then tripped—perhaps while trying to halt—and her sprint's momentum hurled her into the chilled water.

"Kaiya!" Hugh cried over the following splash.

Mikey followed the detective to The Pool's edge, where he intended to dive in. Kaiya, however, surfaced from the pond without incident. She swam towards the males, conquered the dirt bank, and coughed before pushing back her wavy hair so she could flash a smile.

Such didn't keep Hugh from checking her over, though. "Are you okay?"

"That was fun!" the child cheered while seated on her sneakers.

Despite the water dragging down her clothes, she looked all but heavy, and Mikey couldn't help returning her grin. "Wow, you're…really fast, Dudette. Much faster than Donny."

"Can I do it again?"

The mutant opened his mouth, although Hugh's glare closed it.

"Blaine's already going to kill me. I think our share of excitement is met for the night."

Kaiya huffed.

"He just means for the night, Kai. We can run another time."

"Can we?"

"It would be nice to meet once a week, wouldn't it, Hugh?" Mikey and Kaiya regarded the even-faced detective with pleading expressions. A skill the mutant had practiced for years, he knew it was only a matter of time before Hugh gave in. When he did, it was marked by a sigh, and Mikey fist-bumped his youngest friend.

"I'll talk to Blaine. Speaking of, I'll be calling with the information that is in no way making it to the new heroes you obviously don't know."

"Because I'm being good."

"Uh-huh. Anyways, I should get Kaiya dry. We'll see you later."

"Thanks for hanging out, Uncle Mikey!"

Uncle Mikey? Michelangelo quite liked the ring of Kaiya's address.

He silently waved goodbye towards the little blonde, who clung to Hugh as he carried her across the clearing. When their bodies faded into the forest's cover, an overwhelming thankfulness filled the mutant at having taken Splinter's advice. The lonely pang he usually felt wasn't as sharp tonight, so he was confident he could take on one last task.

* * *

Raphael scowled at the figure he sensed shifting on the rooftop behind him. "What're ya doin', Shell-for-Brains?" he asked gruffly through his Nightwatcher helmet.

Michelangelo didn't bother keeping any distance. Instead, he front flipped to join his older brother by the building ledge, his cape fluttering between them. "Dude, when I'm dressed like this, it's Turtle Titan."

"Do ya really want that name bein' thrown around? It's a dead giveaway."

"Then call me Super T."

Raph's grimace couldn't be contained; but since his helmet kept it from showing, he scoffed. "Sounds worse."

"Well excuse me for not having an artistic girlfriend to give me cool names." While the jab was likely a tease about Nia, it held a sharp edge.

"Look, Mike; it sucks, but we shouldn't be spotted together. If anyone catches wind 'a us—"

"You mean, aside from Nia?"

"…Yeah. So get ta yer point."

"Okay, kill joy. I just wanted to drop off some information."

Twisting, Raphael watched his youngest brother back-flip then vault onto a high-raised skylight with the ease of a skilled acrobat. The green-leathered hero slid against the slanted glass until his boot heel caught the lip of the light's aluminum frame, and he grinned down at Raph while casually crossing his arms in silence.

" _Well_?" the black-clad mutant insisted.

"Did you know Lacio Circus is in town?"

"Mikey!"

"Relax, will ya? You're gunna give yourself a hernia."

"Does this information got anythin' ta do with the Purple Dragons or Forty-Four Street Crew?"

"Always quick to the wick and what a short wick ya got." A black cape and cowl combo led into a half mask that kept Mikey's eyes shielded by infrared lenses. Still, years of experience told Raph the 'Turtle Titan' rolled his baby blues.

"If ya don't got anything good then—"

"You're gunna leave? What's wrong with hanging out?"

Raph frowned at how pained his brother's tone sounded. "We can hang at home. Not here. So speak."

"You owe me a game of Space Heroes then."

"Fine." The hothead spoke forcibly, and tried hard to push the game's cheesy dialogue from his mind before he went back on his word.

"Hugh called."

"What for? Didn't ya just meet him tonight?"

"You knew about that?"

"Why wouldn't I?"

The younger Hamato shrugged, a strange action. ' _Does he think he's bein' ignored?_ ' Raphael didn't get a chance for confirmation; his brother continued while gazing at the clear night sky.

"Things are hard for him at work. He's desk-bound thanks to his past injury and the EPF soldier at his precinct happens to be super nosy. A real talker."

"Talker in a good or bad way?"

"Not sure yet. But Hugh can hardly do the work he wants because someone in higher power is hindering him. He's trying to keep tabs on the EPF, to figure out Bishop's next aim, but…"

"He 'n his friends are under a microscope."

"Hun's gang wars with the Forty-Four Crew aren't helping matters either. If anything, the violence is spearheading the demand for EPF applicants."

"Advanced trainin' gives 'em an organized edge against the gangbangers. We know." Raph shot a smirk at Mikey, arms crossing; except it was lost on the hero since he didn't glance down.

"Hugh's given thought to joining them."

" _What_?"

"Don't worry; the idea was quickly reasoned against," Mikey said with a brusque sigh. "His actions at the Property Office put him in a terrible position. The officer who witnessed him take down the EPF guard is still quiet, but Bishop knows who was involved. He can't prove it because the feeds were damaged. Still, his soldier is missing. And the clues point at Hugh."

"If he ain't careful, he'll land in hot water."

"And it's our fault— _my_ fault—for that. We shouldn't ask him to push for any more information."

"I get the feelin' pushin' ain't involved. Hugh's the kinda guy who bulldozes through then survives a pitfall by the skin 'a his teeth."

"Colorful imagery. Have you been helping Nia with her book?"

Raph shook his head. "That's yer job."

"I'll fight ya for it, too." Mikey flashed a grin, finally returning his attention to his brother. "Anyways, I told him to focus on Damien and Kenneth instead."

"Who?"

"Old Purple Dragon members. One was arrested during the April incident and the other was arrested when Blaine and Hugh were tracking down leads on—on Kaiya."

"So what do they got ta do with anythin'?"

"Well"—with a high hum, Michelangelo pushed himself off the skylight, dropping to the cement roof without a sound—"Hugh's receiving a lot of heat because he's watching after them during their probation. Apparently, they wanna enter the police academy."

Raph ran a hand down the side of his padded helmet. "Seriously?"

"Not that bad a deal, really; they've got inside knowledge about Purple Dragon workings. It's…it's why they found Miriam Summers."

Amazing how a single name could double gravity. Raph had no choice except shake his head of it, so the guilt wouldn't settle.

"That's all." No amount of casualty could hide Mikey's hurt feelings, especially not from Raph. He kept quiet about them, though, watching his brother walk backwards from behind his helmet's visor. "The moment Damien or Kenneth mention anything ground-breaking, he'll call. For now, we're stuck with piddly mediating."

"Hey"—Raphael called when Mikey reached the building's corner—"least it's therapeutic, right?"

"Sure," the younger Hamato replied. "It's my turn to go home first, so…I'll meet you for that game later."

In a flash, Michelangelo disappeared like only a Phantom could and Raphael was left to wonder why he suddenly felt as if he had done something wrong.

* * *

The barren office of Hunter Mason was silent. There weren't any needy Purple Dragon members invading his space for trivial matters or updates to be relayed. Why? Because his ranks were all busy on street level with various tasks.

Usually, the mammoth blonde would find satisfaction in his gang's work, yet he frowned while glaring across the cityscape from his office chair, his reflection clearly seen in the line of windows before him. ' _The Turtles haven't messed with my gang in months. Maybe one of their many enemies finally bested them._ '

Hun almost smirked, until a new thought struck him.

' _Now every member is busy. Busy enough not to trouble me with silly matters. But that's because there are so few to fulfill those roles. The damage that stupid girl brought on my ranks was an embarrassment. If the police hadn't of stormed where she stayed in my absence, I would've kept her for sport._ '

Of course, he wasn't allowed that small pleasure. Insult was added to injury when one of his young members sold out the interrogation site. And Hun didn't have a chance to enact proper revenge on him, either. Kenneth Miles sought refuge with the police weeks before then.

' _Now Damien has joined NYPD forces as well. Ridiculous! Where's the loyalty? Those I could rely on fully were taken by that damned Bishop, and none of the connections I've made since Black Lotus' betrayal have helped me with what I desire most!_ '

If he were standing, the giant man would've tossed his chair into the side wall as hard as he could. Since he wasn't, he settled for swiveling backwards so his thick arm could properly displace what little objects resided on his desk. They clanked against the hard ground, though he didn't bother to check if anything was broken—his glare was too fixed on the empty space by his chest as if it displayed the face of everyone he hated.

' _Bishop won't keep my cyborgs much longer. I'll see to that. Meanwhile, Scales and Bones better watch their backs. If those traitors want to involve themselves with the police, so be it. Lots of things happen to officers, particularly when they meddle in turf wars._

' _I'm not giving up any territory to those Forty-Four fools. It's the perfect time to expand, after all. With the turtle freaks nowhere in sight and the Foot quiet…Now it's just some minor trouble with a little girl and a big guy with a chain weapon. Even weakened, we can handle that much._ '

"Hun, Sir?"

Hun's head jerked up. He hadn't heard his office door open, yet in its cavity stood Switchblade, his blonde hair ruffled around his horse-like face as if in a panic. "What is it?" the leader questioned—a threatening action.

"It's, uh, your appointment," the cyborg replied stiffly. "He's here."

* * *

 **A/N:** You don't even know the half of it. Next up is _'The Warner-Frost Services'_ , where we get a glimpse into Nia's home-life with her parents and work-life, where a few surprises await her. Don't be scared to review! :D


	5. The Warner-Frost Services

**A/N:** I'm sorry on Gavin's behalf. He frustrates me too. But he's still family. *tugs at hair*

* * *

 **Chapter 05:** **The Warner-Frost Services**

Gavin Anders was careful not to overfill the drinking glass set on the cherrywood nightstand beside his king-size bed. The plastic pitcher shook in his hands as if its water load weighed a great amount, bringing a frown to his forehead. He couldn't blame the tick on nerves, though. It must've stemmed from the pot of coffee he downed not long ago.

A snigger drew his gaze to the brunette woman leaning against a pile of pillows in his bed. "What, Mia?" he questioned, stoic.

"Stare any harder at that glass, I'm sure it'll shatter," Mia teased. Unrefined motor skills left her impish grin half-formed. Nevertheless, its intent was so familiar that it rekindled Gavin's relief, and he placed the pitcher alongside the glass to keep a new tremble hidden.

' _Why do I bother? She's just going to—'_

"What's the matter?" His short-haired wife paused so she could awkwardly wipe the side of her mouth when she spit. "Liked it better when I didn't say much?"

"It was lonely." Gavin had no idea why the words flew off his lips. He could only reason it was a truth he had been dying to release. Yet he still couldn't face the woman without feeling like he would cease breathing. "I know these feelings are remnants from my delusions. My brain is…mixed."

"Delusions," Mia said softly. She swallowed hard, shifting under the bed's sheets. "Don't tell me you've had…episodes."

Gavin caught himself when he fell against the nightstand. "You were in a coma, M. Towards the end of three months and with Nia…My mind wanted so badly for you to wake."

"Now you feel like…I'm not really here?"

"Wouldn't be the first time."

"Gav."

A longer pause followed. At first, Gavin took the slurred, slurpy sound in stride. It meant Mia needed to wipe her mouth of excess saliva—a common act for those recovering from brain trauma. However, when the silence persisted, he dared glance sideways.

"What are you doing?" the redhead cried.

His long arms propelled forward so he could stop the army crawl his wife attempted across the bed, and he cringed at how boney and small she felt in his grip. Silent, the brunette allowed him to sit her upright against the headboard once more as his gaze trailed down her pale face to her lower body entangled in the sheets.

"I wasn't there for you," grumbled Mia through the short veil of her hair. "Not you or our baby."

"It wasn't your fault."

"Knowing that…doesn't make me feel…better."

"If I could, I would rid any guilt from you. But now you finally know what happened."

"My memories have been whole for a while…you know? Just before I came here from the hospital two weeks ago." Pausing, Mia swallowed audibly with her forehead against her husband's shoulder; though a few drops of spit landed on the covers anyway. The woman wouldn't permit her love to wipe her face before she continued. "I'm glad they waited, really. Being called Misses Brown and Carol felt weird. I just wish…you two wouldn't hide from me."

"What hiding is being done?"

"While my motor skills are lacking…my mind is sharper than ever, Gav. The tension's too real to ignore. My baby wants to tell me something important…but she won't. And you know what it is…don't you?"

"Read us like books," the redhead muttered, lifting a hand so it play with his wife's thick hair.

She leaned into him—coughing a moment—then buried her head against his neck. "It isn't hard. You two can sport the ultimate pokerface when overwhelmed, yet your eyes…her…ability."

"We don't need to talk about that."

"But it's a part of her."

" _It_ set our home on fire. _It_ caused a panic in October. It's dangerous."

"Wh—what panic?"

"Never mind. You should focus on other matters."

"My physical therapy is slow-coming," Mia uttered, just shy of disdain. "All I have are"—she slurped—"my thoughts. She's _special_ , Gavin. Like I thought all those years ago a—at Warner-Frost Services."

"You never could've expected she'd be—she was…" The truth wouldn't form. It was hard enough admitting it his mind, let alone out loud. And he found himself growling at memories, where Nia acted like the loss of a normal life was welcomed.

"You wanted a free life for her, unlike what you had. I know. But…when she talks about her new friends, she looks as if she's flying. Why do you see them as a cage?"

Gavin shook his head. He felt thankful their eyes didn't meet, and when the brunette attempted to lean back, he held her still. "She's throwing away everything I worked so hard to give her."

"Is that how…you see it?"

The redhead grunted.

"Sure, they lead unconventional lives. That isn't such…a bad thing. They did save her, right?"

"Not bad?" Teeth gritted, grip stern, Gavin reeled back so fast that a sense of vertigo spun his wife's surprised expression. "I was already leading a second life. Being forced into a third is—"

The man stopped himself, simply because Mia's slight tremor beneath his hands fueled the pulse thumping in his ears. He meant to shake his head, yet the woman's brown eyes peered through his round glasses, paralyzing him in bed.

"Imagine the people we'd be…if we let our parents dictate it," she whispered. "You, of anyone, should understand. What we want for Nia is happiness and health. So she isn't…normal. Does that make you love her any less?"

"Course not."

"Then let her be who she's _meant_ to be. Please." Mia reached towards the man's cheek, brushing a soft thumb along the edge of his goatee as if to accentuate her plea. The action was nice, memorable, so Gavin reveled in it while his eyes closed.

"At this rate, what she's meant to be is hunted," the redhead said under his breath.

"Who better to teach her how to survive a hunt…than you?"

Though the words were soft, they cut like slow knives into one's gut. As Mia's arm encircled her husband's neck, an unrelenting prickle roused behind Gavin's eyelids. It chocked him shortly before tears welled, leaving him pliable in his wife's grasp. He held onto her little frame—in part conscious of her frailty—then clenched his jaw.

"I—I don't want her to be alien," he croaked. "I don't want her hunted. For once…I wanted something normal."

"I know," she whispered back. Then, she grew silent.

* * *

Nia's migraine pulsed the moment a high-pitch squeal reached her ears. Regrettably, her chance to fix matters had already passed, so the crouched artist turned stiffly by the wall to see what damage she had managed in the midst of her project. True to the Turtle Luck she'd adopted, a prim lady in expensive clothes glared back at her through wild blue eyes, foot raised from the short hallway's flooring.

"I—I'm so sorry, Miss Heart!" Nia exclaimed when her gaze fell on the yellow paint encasing the woman's fancy pump.

"Just look at this mess, _Brown_ ," Miss Heart snapped.

It was amazing how elegant her pale countenance looked while sneering—from her furrowed, arched eyebrows to her full, downturned lips. Nia found it a marvel, really, and though a few people in the past had mistaken the black-haired females for sisters because of their similar features, Nia knew she could never compete with Miss Mellissa Heart's movie star quality.

"Sorry," the younger woman added. "I didn't mean—"

Miss Heart held up a flawless hand, shaking her foot so violently that Nia feared the pump would slip off while splattering paint specs against the hall's partly-finished mural. "Always excuses with you," she snarled before removing the stained shoe herself. She paused to tuck long hairs behind her pierced ear then let her hand travel its length to below her ample bust. "Just keep your toys closer to your play area. Some people actually _work_ for a living, which is hard enough without little girls sabotaging us."

Pure experience told Nia it would be pointless apologizing any further. It always was. Regardless, she couldn't help opening her mouth for another weak 'sorry' as Heart spun, huffed, and then stormed off on uneven feet.

"Honestly,"—Heart's grumble drifted faintly behind her—"my raise was put on hold for that? Useless…"

' _Guess I get lazy where I put my supplies,_ ' Nia thought with a sigh. ' _I don't mean to. I just have a system. I—it's not my fault I work in the middle of traffic…_ ' She sighed again.

"Pay her no mind, Darling. Simply don't do it!"

' _And here comes the polar opposite._ '

Nia knew better than to remain seated when in Irma Flemming's presence, so she stood, her chest racing with an alien excitement. Behind her, a pale, elderly woman –no taller than five feet—beamed with thin, red lips. Clicks from her heels grew louder while she rounded the artist's work area with the ease of a model, and when she halted, she stood with an elbow in one hand and the other poised for conversation.

"Nia—I mean, _Sarah_ , Darling _"_ —she ran her bony hands across the collar of an overpowering fur coat that swallowed her figure like a hungry animal—"you will ruin the mood."

Despite the secluded hall, an anxious jolt ran through Nia's stomach at Flemming's penetrative voice. She wanted to insist her alias be enforced, regardless of their history; however, correcting her boss was like correcting a cat—especially when the Ritzy lady's bright eyes shined with determination behind her over-sized, round glasses.

"Why the long face?"

Blinking, Nia glanced away. "S—sorry, Miss Flemming. I just feel like…Miss Heart won't be happy until I'm gone."

"Probably true." Bold, honest, Miss Flemming waved her posed hand. Her pout remained but a moment—as her expressions often did—before she chuckled, grinning again. "Poor dear will remain unhappy then. When you finish this mural, I want another."

"Re—really?"

"I do not lie, Darling. Why would I?"

"I—I don't mean it that way," Nia insisted with a curt wave. "B—but I thought this one was my last."

Flemming raised her arm high enough towards the mural behind them that Nia noted a pricey collection of gaudy jewelry across it, and the artist knew the elder woman's red-painted nails were just as refined. "I changed my mind, Darling. I often do."

' _Boy, does she,_ ' thought Nia as her boss' arm dropped. ' _Still…_ '

"I've already done three for the office. W—why would you want so many?"

The look Miss Flemming shot back was nothing short of a gawk—exaggerated, short-lived, yet poignant in every sense. She wiped it away by brushing a hand over her wrinkled face, as if she couldn't do so otherwise. "Isn't it obvious?" she questioned. "Murals are lovely. I live for lovely things!"

"But…I'm not famous. Why would you want so much of my work?"

"The answer is clear, Darling. Can you not see it?"

"Uh…" Nia shrugged—an action rewarded by a tart look then a huff.

"The murals are for the children. For the hope! You started here, remember?"

While true, Nia furrowed her brows, watching as Miss Flemming stalked up and down the hall to gaze at the unfinished artwork.

"Many wander this building. Young, confused, scared. Their world has forever changed and they have no vision. Their mind is clouded by disaster. Wouldn't it be comforting if I could tell them 'A kid just like you grew up to paint the world like she had always wanted; you can too'?"

Nia described Miss Flemming as boisterous to her clan; it was the perfect word, though it didn't quite encapsulate the energy her boss exuded. This energy often churned in the artist like a plunge pool, sometimes overwhelming. Like now. Prickles through her weak body left her floating the tiniest amount, so she inhaled deep then replied.

"I…guess it would."

"Of course it would, Darling!" Flemming countered. "Of course! So you work. Pay no mind to Heart; she has no vision. Not like us."

"Thanks, Miss Flemming."

"Speak nothing of it, Darling; I will not have it. Oh! I've got an appointment. But I'll be back. I want to know all about that new building of Baker's, okay? Okay. Ciao!"

' _Right; the clinic. I know Miss Flemming is nice and she led my adoption, but…the clinic's super-low key so Mel can be hired later. I wonder if I can talk about it without giving into her prying. Then again, she and Baker are old friends, so maybe it would be fine? Wait, that's right; why ask_ me _? She has a phone!_ '

Nia would question her boss' strange reasoning, except Flemming was nowhere in sight, leaving a somewhat eerie silence in her absence.

' _Guess I'll find out later. Meanwhile, I need to head for the basement. Again. Get a tarp and bucket. Sponge. Heart didn't have to fling the paint around like she did._ '

Really, it felt like half the work Nia expended involved washing messes.

' _I swear she does it on purpose now…_ '

Or maybe not. It would be very juvenile if she did, and not one thing about Misses Heart cried girl.

So, shoulders slumped, Nia sealed the various paint pails spread between dirty brushes, water containers, and reference photos. Her unfinished lunch and abandoned MP3 player (which must've dropped during the commotion with Heart) was then shoved into the leather satchel Hugh had given her the year previous. Once everything was safe, she draped a canvas tarp over the area then headed for the open staircase at the hallway's end.

It felt like second nature descending three flights of modern architecture until she reached the less impressive basement. Unlike the floors above it, the grimy space was cramped from stout wall to short wall with unused materials and in such disarray that no one dared organize it. Nia tripped on a tripod that had been knocked over on her way in, but steadied her body against a stack of heavy boxes ahead, flipping her long ponytail over her shoulder.

' _The tarps I have now were near the center, so…guess I'll start there._ '

The plan was sound. Yet a strange sensation worked its way under Nia's skin as she stepped forward. The young woman found herself eyeing the path she took warily, and her footsteps against the cracked concrete sounded loud in her ears.

' _I'm probably being paranoid. My empathy is really shaken in crowds…okay, so there aren't any crowds down here. Maybe I'm sensing them from above? Though that's too far away. And a bathroom, I think. So I shouldn't be unnerved, even if I could. Unless…am I unnerved? Or is this—_ '

Clank!

The rate at which Nia spun turned her into a living top. Her legs twisted beneath her. She fell like timber into a collection of old bed sheets and something below them that crunched sickeningly when her full weight met it. Hissing, she floundered upwards—if only to double check what else had fallen over besides an outdated floor lamp.

"I—is someone there?" the artist called, stumbling away from her unwanted bed.

She conquered slow steps down the path, towards the lamp, until gentle movement erupted behind a broken vanity. When the movement increased, so did the alarm in Nia's chest. She paused at the vague chatter of something metallic, gaze fixed on the vanity like it would attack; however…she doubted all the dread belonged to her. She was sure of it, actually, and once she ventured closer, a higher vantage revealed a surprising sight that could only be matched by one time in Nia's mind.

* * *

 **A/N:** First cliff of the book! Many more to come. HAHA. Next chapter's long-awaited ' _Starberry Girl_ '. Review please! :D


	6. Starberry Girl

**A/N:** Thanks for the reviews, folks! I always enjoy hearing from my readers, so never be shy. :D

Many thanks to _Arianna_ for any and all Italian translations in this story. She's been super helpful!

 _Duckie_ \- Gavin is the bane of my existence, and yet I'm still eager to get into more of his character. Unfortunately, that's a slow progress. Filled with much chipping away at his crusty shields. Thus, I'm also glad Mia's here. XD

 _Feather_ \- *glances towards corner with a fancy plaque engraved with 'Gavin'* Be prepared to keep him there...He has issues. Anyways. HA. Cliffhanger misdirection. Read on to understand. ;D

 _Sciencegal_ \- She's fun to write, too!

 _Guest_ \- Eh? I'm a little confused. Where'd you pick up that Irma's evil? LOL. Guess I can save you some trouble and tell you she isn't. She's on Nia's side. :) That aside, enjoy this journey; it'll take you places. ;)

* * *

 **Chapter 06:** **Starberry Girl**

Again, the blood test failed, and Donatello could do nothing about it.

"Denaturation?" April asked from across the Lair's Lab. Dull thumps from her approaching boots sounded as the purple-masked mutant hammered a weak fist against the table before him. His action rattled three Petri dishes beside a home-made microscope and he pinched the bridge of his wide nose when her touch against his arm roused a sting in his gut.

"Every time," he muttered. "Even with my samples. It's like the IgR is an acid, eating away at the blood's proteins, plasma—everything!"

"Which is rather strange," the redhead added, grip tightening. "IgR is a rejuvenating anti-body, so it shouldn't be volatile."

"I've been thinking about what it could mean."

"The contrary nature?"

Don gave a stiff nod then twisted so April's hand fell while he leaned against the table for support his legs currently lacked. "Our whole existence is determined by electrical impulses. Where they travel determines our actions, our emotions, our health. IgR has an innately neutral state. It resides inside most of Nia's leukocytes. You know, white blood cells."

April flashed a bland look at the genius' 'correction', folding her bare arms before cocking her head of shoulder-length hair. Don blamed habit; he often simplified explanations for Michelangelo and Raphael—sometimes even Leonardo. So he flashed an apologetic smile.

"Her erythrocytes are low," he continued. "Always have been, according to Gavin. But her leukocytes are high."

"That must be because she's a—" The redhead glanced aside a moment.

"Let's not use 'half-breed'. Nia doesn't like the word."

"Then what should we use?"

"I'd say hybrid, but…It's clear she doesn't like that term either."

"It'll do. It's the truth…"

"Yeah." The reality of Nia still registered as strange in Don's mind, honestly. And the way April's green eyes darkened proved he wasn't alone. "Anyways, the leukocytes carry IgR by default. It's where they live. My guess would be that, inside Languu, the count is high because the IgRs are constantly activated or they lay in wait of an injury."

"And in Nia they sit still because—"

"The right electrical impulse isn't sent."

"Not often, but…she did heal herself once, didn't she?"

"She did." Don spoke rigidly, recalling his little sister in a hospital bed. "Not all her injuries went attended, though. I mean, her wrist still aches at times."

"But it happened."

The bō master nodded under the woman's sternness.

"Do you still have the power cell she"—April bit her lip—"drained?"

"I made Mikey retrieve it for me. It was meant for a project to capture Melody and her squad. Since that wasn't necessary, I've been storing it."

"Speaking of Gray, I'm surprised she isn't here. Usually, she's right by our sides."

Don enjoyed his old friend's tone about as much as taking his own blood samples, yet he knew anything short of calmness would end in a fight. "She's monitoring Splinter while he does his nightly exercises. I'm sure she'll be in here afterwards."

"She treats him like an invalid," the redhead noted with a frown.

"No; she treats him like she cares. Actually, she acts a lot like Leo would in this case."

"Don't compare apples to oranges, Donny. You know how useless it is, unless you want to show how different they are."

' _Guess I should'a seen that coming,_ ' Don thought as the redhead snorted then turned to clean up the failed experiments on the table. She moved with the furiousness of one bothered by an issue she wanted vanquished, so the mutant opted to help her.

"You had a point," he told the shorter scientist. "If the power cell activated IgR, maybe it's the frequency we need."

"Least it would give us an aim. I'm sort of pissed it's taken us this long to think about it."

"In our defense, it's only been a few weeks since Mel agreed she needed help. Besides, I thought any kind of current would suffice. Lombardo used several, yet none of the ones Mel remembered worked."

"Wonder how Bishop did it." As soon as April's grumble sounded, she stiffened, sending Donatello a pained expression.

"It's alright, Ape," he said. "I'm curious as well. Nia doesn't remember much from her month with the EPF. Says she gets flashes that make little sense."

"But if we don't find the answer soon—"

"I know, April."

"Or maybe you don't." Controlled yet bitter, the woman's tone drew Don's gaze to her intense green eyes. "It's been four days since you called, asking for help with Chemo treatment. Instead, here we are, spending time on IgR, Recro-12, whatever you want to call it."

"It's just…We're so close."

"You've been saying that ever since those healing experiments you did on your leg."

"Which you mustn't mention. Ever."

"Don," April groaned under the mutant's pointed finger, "All you succeeded in was starting an obsession. Splinter needs something _now_."

"I get it, alright?" Don snapped back—an uncontrollable action. "Mel's been insisting on Chemo as well."

"It's a painful thought," whispered April. Her pale hand outstretched to cover her best friend's fist, which he hadn't realized he formed until glancing downward.

"There're many troubles down that route," the Chūnin muttered with a tight chest. "His body is unique. The treatment itself i—is invasive, corrosive…violent. Forget finding the drugs we need. Mel has connections, but—"

"Connections? To what, the Black Market?"

Don need only stare; he couldn't form words, and the subtle mock in April's tone melted into surprise.

"Is it okay for someone with relations like that to be a part of our clan?"

"You think I like the idea?" The mutant's words were unnaturally booming, enough for April to retract her hand as if struck by them. "My heart aches for her to have such ties, even knowing they were for good reasons."

"What good reasons are there for shady deals? Black Lotus thought they were doing things for good reasons, too. Look how that ended."

Donatello didn't dare answer. If the quiver inside his muscles indicated anything, he was sure it meant the fight he had tried to avoid was one word away.

' _Fights won't help,_ ' he reminded himself. ' _Until she's willing to accept Melody, I'm powerless. But she is pushing the envelope._ '

"Look, I don't want you upset, Donny," April added. Startling shifts from anger to resignation to sympathy were a clear mark of how tired the woman felt, and her new softness eased Don's tension a fraction. "I'm just scared. Splinter's sacrificed so much for his family. And when he needs us the most, it's like we're—"

"Floundering." When April nodded, Don released a silent sigh. "We'll figure it out. We're Hamatos; we always do."

It wasn't right to lie, yet even cynical reasoning needed its place. If he let the doubt in now, it wouldn't stop. And Splinter couldn't afford such weakness from his son.

"In that case," started April, "I'll make some calls. Talk with Gavin. Maybe we can find a less questionable source to get what we need. Sound good?"

"Sure. A—are you leaving now?"

Pausing in her walk towards a jacket laid over a chair, April nodded. "It's not that late, so I'm thinking about visiting the Anders before heading home. Nia's staying the night with them, right?"

"Her mother was asking for her, but I think she's coming here first. Mikey and Raph left to escort her from work a little while ago."

"Shouldn't they be back by now?"

Don flashed a look, though it was directed at April's backside as she slipped into her jacket. "Probably. But who knows what trouble they're getting into."

* * *

Nowadays, Michelangelo found most billboards repulsive—especially the one that currently loomed before him.

' _Seriously, how can anyone green light such a disgusting picture? Isn't it bad enough the guy reoccurs in my nightmares without his giant face being displayed at least once in a five-block radius? And here I was hoping I could avoid him if I patrolled Chinatown tonight._ '

Apparently, such was too much to ask from Turtle Luck.

The Chūnin was left to scowl at Agent Bishop's sly grin—not bothering with a second glance towards the bold-lettered message—before he spun on the heel of his costume's boot. Folding his arms was restricting, yet despite cries from his green leather suit, he managed it without ripping any seams. The upturned lip along a steep, tile roof gave him firm ground to sweep the night area for trouble.

' _Here I am. Alone. Again. I know Raph wanted to spend time with Nia, but…Naw, he wasn't brushing me aside. He even played Space Heroes this morning like promised. Still, it's getting a little old…having to leave them be._ '

The feeling was totally selfish, wasn't it? He didn't mean for it to be. If he could, he'd rather not have it at all. It simulated jealousy to an uncomfortable degree, and he experienced enough of that during the Black Lotus incident.

' _She picked Raph. I get it. I respect her choice, so…what's wrong with me? During my talk with Splinter before he was…diagnosed, he said I'd be balancing emotions because of new family roles. I thought he meant Melody joining us, but I guess, even then, I knew what he really meant_.'

Raph and Don were now married turtles. They didn't have legal certification, but even if they did, matters would change very little. Point being, their priorities had shifted. Just a little, yet enough to notice when the couples wanted one another.

' _Wouldn't be so bad if Leo were here as a fellow bachelor. Hugh hasn't called me since I saw him and Kaiya yesterday. Already that meeting feels like weeks ago. I could start sitting in on the talks when the Nerd Quartet gets together. Then again, those end up making me more depressed…_ '

Mikey groaned. No matter where he invested his efforts, it seemed he had few callings to fulfill at home. At least Topside, in a city filled by crime, he could make some difference.

' _Speaking of…_ '

The caped-hero crouched on the roof ledge, peering over it with well-practiced ease. Below many strings of lit hanging lanterns, he spotted a crowd. Not your usual kind that traveled the concrete walkways set at the feet of brick buildings decorated by colorful awnings. This was more of the fast-paced kind, the kind in hot pursuit. There were fifteen—according to Mikey's judgment—wearing all black with a smaller figure dressed in pink at their head.

For a moment, the mutant considered them Foot. After catching several threats as they barreled past, he changed his mind.

' _Foot know better than to go around parading themselves. Must be gangsters. Guess it's a simple damsel in distress scenario then? Why, that's my calling. Now I'm glad Raph ain't here!_ '

With no further prompt needed, Mikey sprung into action.

He'd seen the crowd tunnel through the gateway arch then hang a right, so he had to be quick. Powerful leaps conquered steep rooftops in seconds only a Hamato could achieve, and their owner needed no more than a moment to find the group's trail. It wasn't hard, really; they left it in loud, angry shouts, heading towards Columbus Park.

' _They're catching up,_ ' the hero thought while dropping to street level.

A sense of wrongness forced Mikey's attention left then right when out in the open. It made him feel naked, as if he was vulnerable to anything that traveled the wide, triangular intersection. Thankfully, only a single car passed without incident, so Mikey shook his head, aware he should stop stalling.

His next moves were fueled by utter confidence. After bolting across the intersection then using a bench as leverage to vault over the playground's high iron fence, the hero darted towards the double set of monkey bars—where the black-clad gangsters flocked around their prey. Though lighting was sparse, Mikey instinctively scanned the area for ample coverage for an ambush.

Not a moment later he realized: he wasn't playing ninja tonight.

"Hey, short, dark and loud-mouthed!" he cried for their attention. When he had it, he placed his arms akimbo then lifted his chin. "Why not back off? Even I'm not desperate enough to chase down a girl like that."

"Who the hell are you?" one member asked in clear derisiveness. His pierced brow arched, though the action could barely be seen below the intersecting light from two lamps.

"What's with the cape?" another added, laughing.

"Is there a geek convention in town?"

No, Mikey wouldn't allow their teases to effect him; he stood straighter, pointing an finger at a random gangster. "I can't accept—"

"Wait," a feminine voice interjected. It was light, cutesy, yet beneath it something dangerous laid—something Mikey couldn't quite place.

His arm remained outstretched as his gaze shifted from the gangsters towards the bright figure they had herded between parallel bars. Petite, almost scrawny, she didn't look like a threat. Her pale green hair was done up in a high ponytail decorated with a bow. And she wore pink and white with black accessories like thigh-high fishnets, combat boots, and elbow-length gloves that gave her a punk-like feel. Despite the odd mix, only the rounded eye mask over her face sealed the hero's attention.

"What do you think you're doing?" the young woman questioned, crossing her arms below the black bow on her sleeveless shirt.

The gold star emblem at its center drew Mikey's attention before he adopted a new pose. "I'm here to rescue you?" he countered, albeit unsurely because of the glare he felt.

"There's no rescuing this brat," gang member One sneered. As if to emphasize his point, he punched his palm then cracked his knuckles.

"Yeah, this little girlie has messed with our business for the last time."

"Sciocco," the green-haired female spat. "How long will it be until you lot get my name through your thick skulls. It's Starberry Girl."

"Starberry Girl," Mikey echoed.

' _That means she's the girl from the news!_ '

"Si, that's my name. And"—pausing to crouch, the heroine grinned—"I got these bulli right where I want them."

Michelangelo wished to question what 'sciocco' and 'bulli' meant, except he hardly had the chance to blink before action exploded.

One moment Starberry Girl was poised like a rabbit ready for escape, the next she lifted her thin body with the parallel bars' help. Her legs tucked close after her initial swing, and when two gangsters bum-rushed her, she was obviously prepared. Her feet shot forward with a power that would shame a kangaroo, her grin growing. As the men groaned on the ground, she shifted forward in wait for the next wave.

It came in a trio, which filed one-by-one towards the bars with pointless screams. Starberry Girl didn't swing again until they were close. To Mikey's trained eye, he saw she timed it perfectly; so she could switch the way she faced before the taller men flew under her. Force and surprising strength propelled her into a handstand, and the three gangsters had little chance to realize what happened before her combat boots descended like a pendulum axe against their backs.

Maybe a need to prove her point gave her drive to finish the move by propelling off their slumped bodies, twisting into a flawless aerial spin that landed her hands against the asphalt. Then her feet. Over and over again until she bypassed the gangsters and stood upright near Michelangelo. Her maneuver resembled dancing—elegant, seamless—and he had to wonder if, somewhere down the line, she had Ninjutsu training as well.

"Ugh, you, uh, s—should be careful," Mikey said over the gangsters' curses. It felt like his hero facade faltered the longer he stared at Starberry Girl, cracking his voice, so he contemplated resorting to ninja mode.

"Does it look like I can't handle myself, Figo?" The heroine snorted through her upturned nose, though movement from the gangster swarm diverted his attention.

"I admit, you have skill," he noted while taking a stance. "Even so, you ought'a be more careful. This is, like, twenty guys, and you only recently surfaced in New York. Amateurs shouldn't—"

A dull yet notable pressure met Mikey's throat. He didn't sense maliciousness or a blade's edge, which is why he didn't outright retaliate. Instead, he sent the green-haired human a sidelong glance, eyes traveling the long length of a golden staff he hadn't seen before.

' _Where was she keeping that?_ '

"Don't call me amateur," she hissed in a voice pitched with an unidentified accent. Then, she pushed the staff's butt farther into Mikey's neck. "I am _no_ dilettante!"

"Is there something wrong with the English language?" the mutant countered. "Really, we're in America. What if I started talking in Japanese?"

"You don't seem Japanese."

"I don't seem like a lot of things that I am."

"Want to know what I think?" Gang Member One had recovered from his earlier falter and his crew slowly followed his lead.

"Not really," Starberry Girl shot back.

"Too bad; I think ya'll are ready for a _real_ lesson." As he spoke, a misshapen smile spread across the man's dirty face—fearless because of what he and his companions aimed with: hand guns.

"Guns," the heroine said flatly.

"You should get out of here," Mikey replied in new seriousness. His glare landed on the small army ahead and instinct called him to stand before the young woman.

She would have nothing of it, though; she rounded his side, spinning her Star Staff. "It's not my first tango with guns."

"Mine either, but—"

"Stop. I'm here and I'm fighting. You have no idea what these guys have been up to…"

"Fine." With grim resignation, Mikey prepared himself for the charge he sensed coming. "But can you at least team up with me?"

The green-haired female glanced his way. Then smirked.

* * *

 **A/N:** Told you more cliffs would be coming. :P


	7. Turtle Luck

**A/N:** Part two is a go! Enjoy!

 _D_ : I was looking for you. Welcome to _Heroes_!

 _Sciencegirl_ : Starberry Girl and Turtle Titan banter is a favorite to write. It's a nice change from the last few books. :D

 _WOLF_ : I like to keep my reader's guessing. ;)

 _InYuJi_ : LOL

Duckie: I love you! *hugs*

* * *

 **Chapter 07:** **Turtle Luck**

Starberry Girl's staff wielding was remarkable; although growing up with Donatello meant Michelangelo had seen more precise methods to fight with one. While Don used his bō like a natural extension of himself, Starberry Girl used her golden weapon more as a club, like Raphael would in his teen years. And it left the impression of a small-framed cavewoman.

Not that it worked against the duo's favor. The first swing from the staff's star-shaped head is what stunned Gangster One into vulnerability.

"So, what did these guys do?" Mikey yelled over the crowds' gunfire. Their stray bullets left nerve-wracking knots in the mutant's stomach and echoes through Columbus Park. Luckily, their aim couldn't hit the broadside of a barn, leaving him comfortable enough to flip out of range when the need arose.

"You want to talk _now_ , Figo?" Starberry Girl retorted. Mikey's peripheral vision caught her vaulting over one gunman before knocking his head sideways into a chin-up bar with her staff.

Capturing the wrist of another gunman, Mikey twisted it until the man's whole body followed like a corkscrew then dropped. "Will you stop using…whatever that language is?"

"Chiudi il becco!" Two more men fell when Starberry Girl snarled because her hands reached towards their throats like lightening. It was a brief moment that she squeezed between her knuckles and thumbs—expertly at the same kyūsho—before her foot kicked back up the staff she'd dropped, spinning it into her left hand.

' _I really wanna ask where she got training. But she's so hung up on—'_

"First, I'll show you what this dilettante can do!"

Was it just him, or did she resemble Raph in some ways? Maybe their similarity is why Michelangelo felt arguing would be useless.

The hero heaved in resignation, perfectly aware of movement behind him as the hotheaded female continued her assault. Two unarmed thugs thought they could jump him while distracted. Unfortunately for them, the mutant possessed ninja senses, and he casually twisted to close-line them once they charged.

"You're lucky I don't have my usual weapons," he told the downed figures twisted along a merry-go-round. "If it weren't for my need to keep a low profile—"

"Six left, girlie. You can't stop us all at once."

Mikey whirled at Gangster One's chuckle. Beyond the playhouse beside him, Starberry Girl stood between two swing sets in the midst of readied gunmen. Her staff was poised for defense as they encroached, yet her expression defied any sign of apprehension. In fact, she looked annoyed.

"What a coward's weapon," the green-haired heroine spat. "This just goes to show how easily you were meant to fall."

"Enough playtime," the leader shot back. "After three weeks, we finally scrub you from the equation."

"What? Purple Dragons getting the better of you?"

Starberry Girl flashed a smirk beneath the park's cheap lighting. Maybe it was a trademark image for her, and Mikey was convinced that if he could see her eyes below the black mask, they would sparkle. So call it morbid curiosity he stood still as the young woman awaited the right moment for retaliation. He neared, preparing himself, yet had to wonder…

How would she get out?

The answer came quick. Like, less-than-a-minute quick.

Starberry Girl's previous cavewoman movements evolved into more graceful ones, which spun her away from three bullets with a Butterfly Jump. Crouching, her gloved hands shifted along her weapon's shaft, twisting it until something clicked in between a strangled cry and another gun shot.

Mikey's eyes widened when she pressed a button near the star-shaped head and continued to do so as it lit up. ' _An electric-charged staff?_ '

The hero could hardly contain his excitement; seeing Starberry Girl alternate her crackling staff from back to front was a lot like watching a movie. As soon as one gangster convulsed, dropping his weapon, she would move to the next—until four males joined their bleeding comrade on the ground. Then she paused at the last villain: Gangster One, who stared crazy-eyed at the heroine he barreled after.

Anger had clearly blinded him, so the handgun's missed shots dug into the asphalt like little meteorites. Mikey stepped forward when Starberry Girl refused to divert from their path, though his concern was apparently misplaced. A swing proved an ideal foothold for her to plant in during her dodge. She kept balanced with one boot on the rubber seat—like she generally rounded a swing's frame in that manner—then collected all her momentum into landing on Gangster One's shoulders after performing a full 'U'.

He hunched at her sudden weight, yet the staff head against the side of his bare neck collapsed him in seconds. Starberry Girl stood with a triumphant foot on his recoiled figure, smirking, and contracted her staff back into its shorter form.

"Who's the dilettante now, Figo?" she questioned, chin raised.

Michelangelo twitched—movie-like enchantment now passed. "I didn't mean any offense, Chibi Hoshi."

"Certo." The young woman pursed her lips then jumped off the unconscious gangster. "I'm just a femmina, a girl. So, obviously, I can't handle myself."

"That isn't it," Mikey grumbled.

' _I just wanted to play hero…_ '

"You…you were manipulating us."

Mikey twisted alongside Starberry Girl when a pained voiced interjected. He faced the gang member injured by his leader's firearm. The man didn't look up from gripping his bleeding leg; perhaps because he couldn't handle the humiliation of facing the green-haired heroine.

"Si," Starberry Girl replied. And for the first time, Mikey witnessed how bright her smile shined. "I got you out of there, didn't I?"

"Idiots," the bleeding gangster muttered. It seemed directed at his crew rather than the heroes, though.

"Don't take it personally; I can be misleading," Starberry Girl added. "Although it's somewhat insulting how readily you believed my fake floundering."

"All this time"—the man paused to hiss and cringe—"an act."

"Like I said, you needed removed. Know how many kids hang around that area?" Somehow, Starberry's Girl's grin remained yet grew dangerous, biting. "I won't let the PDs hang around anymore, either."

"Were they fighting for turf?" Michelangelo questioned.

"No," the heroine spat, "recruits."

"Ya can't stop us," the man added with a grim laugh. "Hun's always been at our heels, pushing. He—he's grown weak over the winter. It's time we pushed back."

Starberry Girl snorted. "Only thing you'll be pushing is your cell door closed. Give it a minute, police will be crawling through this park. And it'll be thanks to your commotion."

Right, police. Michelangelo strained to hear any sirens. They hadn't sounded yet. ' _Still, it's probably best I don't linger._ ' Forcing his vision on the heroine ahead, Mikey contemplated how to take his leave, only her grave expression left him speechless.

"Do you even care about the damage you PDs and Forty-Four punks cause? Losers like you must retain some conscience. It's not right to spill-over into neighborhoods or tear people in half, _especially_ when they don't want to be a gangster to begin with."

"They…could change their minds."

"Disgusting."

After a chuckle the man grew silent and lax. Starberry Girl kneeled beside him to rip part of his oversized pant leg. She turned the long piece of fabric into a tourniquet by wrapping it tightly around his wound, then stood to send Mikey a look.

"What?" he asked.

"We should leave."

"But there are so many questions going through my head right now."

"Look, while Fifth Precinct can have a pretty slow response time, they do show."

"Believe me, I know. But—"

"These guys won't get up anytime soon."

"That's not what I'm—"

"Does it always take you this long to make a point?"

Mikey could feel his eye spaz below his mask. He was sure the heroine sensed it, too. Otherwise, why would her smirk grow?

"As one professional to"—she left her mouth open, gesturing towards the mutant—"whatever you are, I'd suggest loosing the cape."

"What?"

"They're liabilities. Trust me. I'll see you around."

"Hold on!"

Michelangelo may've yelled with a little too much gusto. But he couldn't care less if he did.

His call stopped Starberry Girl in her tracks by the monkey bars, offering the perfect chance to catch up. He reached towards her arm then spun her. In that moment a gale blew against him, and whipped around like a mini tornado. Its force was short, yet pushed his cape over his cowl then against the monkey bars overhead.

Startled, he stumbled forward, not releasing the heroine for guidance. All too late he found that his cape had snagged something on the bars. It unbalanced him then forced him forward without mercy. Starberry Girl's surprised gasp sounded before his vision cleared of orange. By then, they landed against the asphalt with his mouth pressed firmly against hers.

He always could count on Turtle Luck.

* * *

"Ya ain't really goin' tonight, are ya?" Raphael asked Nia. He sat up further in his unmade bed, watching his wife stuff a spare shirt into her backpack across the room.

"Mama was insistent," she replied—a soft, usual action. Her hair remained in a ponytail from work, yet she pushed what stray locks she could behind one ear out of habit. "I told her what I saw in the basement, remember?"

"Ya could'a left that bit out." The hothead crossed his large arms, pushing his carapace harder against the brick wall that acted as his headboard.

"Doing so would be like not telling you or Mikey. Would you have liked that?"

Raph returned his wife's pointed stare evenly then snorted. "No."

"Thought so. I—I have enough things I can't tell her. Least I could do is say something about a couple of hiding kids."

"Still can't believe ya didn't report 'em."

"Raph"—Nia's gentle call stiffened the mutant's muscles—"they _begged_ me."

"Y—yeah…I know."

"It's sad," the human continued with a sigh. She shook her head then walked towards the bed; but not halfway there, her legs swayed. Raph arrived by her side in an instant, to prevent her from tripping over his dumbbells, and he refused to release her, even when she sent a grim smile. "They're no older than eleven."

' _She's seriously ignorin' what I wanna mention,_ ' thought Raph while he guided her to the bed. ' _Whatever. I already convinced her not ta give blood this weekend with help from Don._ '

"I'm hoping Mama will know a way to help," Nia added once stable. "I—I'll keep their secret from Misses Flemming for now, but…they can't hide in a basement forever."

Slowly, Raphael lowered his gaze until it met Nia's weak hand, which was swallowed by both of his own. "They said they were from Lacio Circus, right?"

The human gave a slow nod. "They return when they must. Then…come back to the basement."

"Did they tell ya why?"

"Someone came down before I could get a full explanation. I—I was gunna tell you and Mikey the full details once I did."

"Full details?" Raph frowned. "What'd ya leave out?"

"I couldn't help it." Nia spoke in a rushed voice, like she had done something wrong. Raph doubted she actually had, yet he used his gaze to inquire more. "M—my heart went out to them. Even now it…aches. They aren't, uh…like other children."

"How so?"

"Th—they're Sideshow kids."

"Ya mean like—"

Nia sighed, leaning so close against Raphael that his chest clenched at her tremble. "They haven't given me their real names. One, a boy, has hands that look to have grown in half, li—like prongs. The other is female. She says they call her a 'Ware Child'."

"I take it she's hairy then," Raph said carefully.

"Yes; and her tongue is…doubled tipped. She has the most amazing green eyes, though."

"So these kids are runnin' _away_ from the circus?"

"Yes."

' _Makes sense. The adults must have them earn a livin' by lettin' oddahs gawk at 'em. Who wants that?_ "

"They looked tired," Nia said after a moment of silence. "And they told me 'Please don't tell. Lacio keeps us because what we are, but…it isn't who we are.' H—how could I betray them?"

"No one's suggestin' ya shoul've," noted Raph lowly. "But it's problematic."

"I wanted to talk with everyone once I knew more, make a plan."

"Nia—"

"I'll be fine." The young woman shifted along the bed's edge so she could send a pleading look with her teal eyes.

Granted it was effective, Raph gripped both her shoulders, tone serious. "On one condition. Ya stay the whole weekend with me."

"What about patrol?"

"It can wait if ya plan against takin' a long trip in the middle 'a the night."

"You just _want_ me this weekend." Straight-shot like agreed; Nia's insinuation no longer brought as big of a blush to her face as it once did. And she spoke flatly without doubt.

"Guilty as charged," the mutant countered, encircling his wife's waist. "Tell yer mom ya'll stay Monday 'n Tuesday night instead."

"Because you'll be out."

"Don't act like ya don't want this either." It took a light nibble at her earring to earn the blush he wanted. When he had it, he smirked, giving the old plasma burn along her collarbone a kiss.

"I'll call," Nia whispered into his ear. "But we should spend time with Mikey too."

She just had to mention the goofball when he was setting the mood, didn't she? Invasive thoughts of his youngest brother's taunting grin forced Raph's eyes open, and he jerked back suddenly when his imagination simulated the teases that would be dished out if said nunchaku master was present.

"Raph?" Nia blinked. "What's wrong?"

The mutant blanched. "Sometimes, ya're really good at killin' the atmosphere."

"…What?"

"Oh my god, guys, guess _what_!"

Michelangelo's cry wasn't imagined this time. It cut through the bedroom in a high pitch, leaving the hothead to wonder if either his brother's voice or tight grip on the round handle had led to the doors' violent swing inwards. He stared at the orange-masked mutant beaming back at him—as if the fool had just preformed a miracle—and he knew better than to ask 'what happened?' Judging by how heavy Mikey was breathing, the youngest would cave in three, two, one…

"I just kissed a girl."

There was a long silent moment.

Then, Raphael faced Nia. "I take it back: _he's_ really good at killin' the atmosphere."

"Know what, Raphy Boy? I don't even care what you're talking about. You guys should just hear me out."

"Why?" Raph questioned when the nunchaku master closed the door. "This sounds like somethin' I'm gunna scold ya for."

"Sensei and Donny would scold me worse."

"So, ya went patrollin'. Alright. What'd ya _do_ ta her?"

"Nothing bad!" the blue-eyed Hamato spat. Yet he paused, resituating the duffle bag slung over his shoulder as his glare faltered. "Well, except for maybe fall on her."

"Is she okay?" Nia squeaked. Raph couldn't help sniggering at how the artist immediately covered her mouth then apologized.

"She's fine," Mikey said. "A fall's nothing for this girl."

"That's familiar talk for someone ya just met."

Finding Raph's stern gaze, the orange-masked Chūnin countered with a defiant pout. "Unlike some people, I pick up skilled readings from others. She gave me a lot to work with, actually."

"An' who exactly is 'she'?"

"The heroine we've been hearing about."

"Y—you mean the one that's been associated with the EPF Hub bombings?" Nia's question popped the proud huff Mikey had inhaled like a balloon.

Deflated, he retorted in a dour mood tempered only by the thrill lingering behind his bright eyes. "We don't know if she's the one causing such trouble. It's only what the news reports."

Raph grunted. "We don't know if she ain't, either."

"Maybe I would know if she hadn't of taken off."

"Scare her with yer smooth moves, Casanova? An' here I thought ya were ready ta brag about a magical night."

Mikey stomped a foot when his older brother chuckled, though Nia's slap against his arm is what bothered Raph the most. "It was magical, Raphy Boy. Kind'a. Not in the Disney sense, but there was definitely…something."

"Something?"

"How else would you explain her not screaming bloody murder when I accidentally kissed her?"

"D—did that happen when you fell on her?"

"I'd use the word petrifaction."

Raphael and Nia spoke at the same time, though it seemed Mikey caught both replies, glaring at his brother. "Yes, _Nia_ , it did. It happened because, uh…my cape caught the monkey bars then unbalanced me."

"Oh, Mikey!" Raph bellowed while slapping his kneepad in humor. "Ninja beat by monkey bars? Dude, ya're right: ya would be chewed out!" A new pressure met Raph's shoulder—sudden, rough—and once he raised his head again he was met with his wife's shaking head and downturned lips. "What? It's funny."

"Not to Mikey," the dark-haired human whispered. "He's feeling—"

She stopped herself there, teal eyes darting in Michelangelo's direction. The hothead followed her lead until he noticed a new dreariness that prevented the younger Hamato from smiling fully. It was grim enough to silence any possible jabs in Raphael's throat, so he sat quietly.

"Starberry treated it as if I were your average _guy_ that did it," Mikey said, low. "She didn't look at me disgusted; she looked at me shyly. I—I know it was an accident, but…I…I'd like to know her better."

"Mikey," Raph interjected, "don't let a good feelin' get ya inta trouble."

"Looks who's talking."

"I'm serious, Shell-for-Brains. She could bring more attention than ya need. What if yer cover winds up blown 'cuz 'a the Hub bombings, an' the news gets wind 'a Turtle Titan?"

"You have no proof she's connected. Even if she were, I'd cross that bridge when it came. Things might not go that far, though."

"Hey—"

"I didn't tell you this so you could forbid me from seeing her." Mikey cut Raph off, violent enough where Nia gasped beside her husband. "This might be one of those rare good Turtle Luck cases. This might be _my_ chance. So I don't want to hear it from the married guy about how I should keep a distance."

"Mikey," Nia uttered. She motioned to stand, except the orange-masked mutant backed towards the door, glancing downwards.

"I thought you would be excited for me," he said in an undertone.

"Yer twistin' things, Mike."

"Guess now I know what to keep to myself."

"We don't want that," added Nia. Her small voice cracked and she rose from the bed alongside Raphael. But they were both too late: Michelangelo had already left, leaving the door wide open.

* * *

 **A/N:** With Leo gone, Raph takes on the role of protective older brother. LOL Review? :D


	8. Awkward

**A/N:** Thanks for the reviews, guys! :D

* * *

 **Chapter 08:** **Awkward**

Nia expected her father to be away. His position at a local high school covered night-schooling as well as day during Mondays and Thursdays, so she had hoped she'd have time alone with her mother. Since her plan backfired, strained greetings were exchanged between the family when she entered her parents' master bedroom, and she decided to brew coffee with the maker beside the television on a long, double dresser to keep busy.

"You delayed your mother's request," Gavin said while the artist scooped dark grounds into the removable filter basket. His casualty couldn't be ignored, especially seeing as how it was meant to invoke guilt in Mia's presence.

"Leave her be," Mia retorted, somewhat slurred. Nia could only assume the mother had spoken more forcibly than desired because the gurgle of excess saliva sounded before a pause. "Stupid mouth."

"A whole weekend."

"It was late Friday." Mia's words were clearer than before, prepared for speech, and Nia smiled at the heat in them when she closed the coffee maker's lid and pushed the brew button. "Her boyfriend also had the weekend off from work…I'm always free, so it's easier to see me."

"She's been spending more and more nights with her _boyfriend_."

' _He's really in it to test me today, isn't he?_ ' Nia thought, spinning slowly against the dresser.

Beside her the coffee maker sputtered and hissed with its hot task, though it sounded muffled compared to the pulse in her ears. Gavin had the nerve to keep his green eyes on the television's news report—like their topic didn't deserve his full attention. He adjusted his round glasses once, not glancing over, so Nia tensed her jaw.

"Don't tell me you suspect our little Nia of anything." Mia chuckled—a goofy action—then faced her daughter with a bright smile. "She's staying with the whole family. Besides, our baby's a good girl; she wouldn't do anything without being married first. Right, Nia?"

Was it possible to choke on air? Yes. And it jabbed her chest. Nia tried desperately to avoid detection by spinning around and cupping her shaky hands against the dresser's lip. As her mother laughed by her father in bed, the young woman stared at the half-filled carafe, willing it to finish.

' _This isn't the direction I want this talk to take. It'd be awkward enough without all the little…issues. I mean, I didn't_ really _disappoint them. Technically, I didn't have pre-marital sex. Kind'a. Considering my circumstances. All the Hamatos deem us married…_ '

But she couldn't say that.

' _Darn it! I'm sure Daddy knows on some level. I won't confirm it for him, though. Or Mama. So I gotta calm down. Don't let them see me flustered. Don't give it away._ '

With a sure, steady exhale, Nia eased her heartbeat. Granted it still rung in her ears, she could at least feign innocence while retrieving two ceramic mugs from the pyramid stack amid the coffee maker and low-volume television.

"I was raised as a proper lady," the artist said, stiff. "I wouldn't give myself out _cheaply_."

"Your father knows that," remarked Mia. "It's not at all what he was suggesting. Right, Gav?"

A pause followed—filled with the pouring of two coffees.

Then, Gavin snorted. "Sure."

"He's probably…worried about you being out with…so much going on in the city."

"The Hamatos look after me." Nia replied—the defensiveness uncontrolled—and she cringed before turning with two black coffees in her hands. "They'll keep me safe," she added, softer.

"I'm sure that's true, but…it doesn't stop a parent from worrying." Mia's kind gaze followed Nia to where Gavin sat on the bed's left side, although she kept quiet a long moment. "Gang wars and terrorist attacks? It's hard not to think about…when your only child is out."

"I'm not involved with them."

"You could be. What if the terrorists—"

"They're not terrorists," interjected Gavin in a thin tone.

Mia sent him a questioning look while Nia offered him a mug.

Gavin lowered the steaming coffee he claimed, pressing it firmly against his leg as if the pressure or heat kept him focused. "Those bombings are for show, a game."

"H—how would you know?" Nia asked.

"If they were serious, the new headquarters would've been struck by now. Like Nine-Eleven. EPF members' names would be credits in news columns. Demands would be made, intents known.

"A month of continual, predictable assaults on something as small as Hubs can only mean one of two things. Someone either feels a need to screw with the organization, or they're testing to see how Bishop retaliates. Either way, it's play."

"Since when do you study terrorism psychology?"

Gavin's green eyes flicked towards Nia, though Mia spoke teasingly before the artist could read any definitive emotion. "You sure you aren't the one out there raising hell, Gav?"

"You know I'm not, Mi. Besides, if _I_ retaliated, Bishop wouldn't notice my motives until it was too late."

"Really?" Nia shifted, resting her coffee against chest. "Sounds like a method some other people we know would use."

Gavin grunted.

"You'd think you have enough in common to get along, but that doesn't make a difference for you, does it, Daddy?"

"Never has," the man replied—a near inaudible action.

Nia frowned when he sipped his coffee, gripping it tightly; she didn't need empathy to sense the rage eating at his control and inhaled to keep it from poisoning her own. "If you're this upset, I'm surprised you haven't gone after Bishop already."

"I have my priorities." Gavin's sharp words and fixed gaze on the television were manners he used when correcting an unruly student, delving a cold pang through Nia.

"Do you?" she asked flatly. Maybe it was the calm gaze her mother cast in her direction or the mood swings brought on by Anemia; either way, the artist stood her ground in an unusual fit of annoyance, staring stoically at the man who refused to accept her adopted clan.

"I have you and your mother," Gavin said after a passing silence. "It's all I need."

Boy, did Nia want to scream—the kind of scream that would bring Raphael pride. Her whole body trembled in danger of it, yet her innate pacifism suggested she avoid a blowout. The father wouldn't listen anyway. So, fists clenched, she twisted at the waist towards her silent mother in hopes of guidance. Below thick blankets, the short-haired brunette returned Nia's pain with a comforting smile, which soon landed on Gavin.

"Well," Mia started, "as the man who wants to…care for us, can you make spaghetti for dinner?"

The redhead caught onto his wife's motives; the spike in his Chi said as much. He paused, his eyes leaving the news for pointed looks at the women in his life. Mia's smile only brightened—no doubt because she sensed his awareness—and when the man stood, he did so begrudgingly. Nia expected him to leave without a word, yet he approached her with a frown on his pale face.

"You're eating too, right?" It wasn't so much a question as it was a demand.

Nia kept a straight face, saying, "I'm not hungry."

"Appetite has nothing to do with it," her father countered. He gripped her hand then brought it up so her yellowed, chipped fingernails were displayed between the two of them. "If you're going behind my back, the least you could do is take care of yourself. You're eating."

That said, he dropped her hand, almost reluctantly, and spared his wife a cryptic glance before heading out the bedroom door.

"He's not good with change, Ni. Never has been."

Mia's soft tone is all it took for Nia's shoulders to slump. She groaned in a half-whine then headed for the vacant spot left by her father. Climbing into bed, she slouched against the wooden headboard and curled around her hot coffee, a frown on her face.

"He'll warm up," the brunette insisted.

"In a hundred years, maybe."

"Give him some credit." Stiff, shaky, Mia brought a hand to Nia's face. The artist lifted her head when it obscured her vision of the television, yet she didn't jerk away from its clumsy strokes against her hair. "He's had a lot to…get over in the past."

"Like I would know," Nia grumbled. "He won't say anything. And I had to learn things about you from Mister Hugh."

"I'm…sorry for that," the woman whispered. She swallowed hard then dropped her hand. "Guess I'm trying to forget things too."

"And this is where I get my problems from."

"Excuse me?"

"N—nothing. Just noticing some similarities between all of us that my…boyfriend isn't fond of."

"When will I meet him, Ni?"

Grim disappointment churned below her mother's cheer, sinking, which prompted Nia to glance ahead. "I—I don't know, Mama. Their situation is—"

"Complicated. But I'm so eager to know them."

"Yeah…"

"He sounded like a nice young man."

"Huh?" Nia abandoned the television to meet her mother's lopsided grin. "Who?"

"The one who you said talked to me while I was in my coma. It's…good he called because I wanted to thank him personally."

"Wait, wait, wait! Mikey called you?" The surprise was uncontained, so Nia found her voice powerless against the high pitch it instilled like helium.

Mia maintained her smile through its pierce, dabbing the left corner of her mouth with a folded handkerchief. "Ye—yesterday evening he did. Your father had left to get groceries, and the boy said you had given him my number in case of an emergency."

' _More like he stole it from my phone,_ ' thought Nia as her lips grew taunt across her face.

"Michelangelo. His name sounds so sophisticated, meant for a real gentleman."

"You got one of those right," the artist muttered.

"Oh, come on. He was so sweet talking to me—if a bit timid."

' _Mikey? Timid? That's hard to imagin._ '

"So," Nia ventured, clasping her hands, "what did he want?

Mia giggled then leaned back into her pillows. "Nothing major. Just a little motherly advice about a girl."

* * *

Was it alright for Michelangelo to have called Mia? Twenty-four hours later and he was still unsure. But he had done it regardless because he needed another's opinion. If Raphael was hell-bent on pushing his youngest brother in the opposite direction and Nia was stuck to her husband's side that meant he needed a new angle. Even if it made for some awkward conversion…

"Besides, just because we can't see her in person doesn't mean we can't get to know her," Mikey said out loud. His heavy weight sunk him through the warm, night air, though he landed on the greystone pathway inside Columbus Park without a sound. When he straightened, he did so with little alarm, entrusting the full canopies of trees would conceal him as he walked away from the high iron fence.

' _Talking won't hurt. She can't guess I'm a mutant from my voice alone. And I need help. Even if Sensei knew I was out as Turtle Titan most nights…he isn't a girl. I can't get the advice I need from him._ '

So it wasn't wrong, right? Nia was his sister, which made Mia a mother figure. He couldn't possibly be wrong for wanting to pursue a friendship. Stealing her phone number, though? He may be wrong for that.

' _Hope Nia doesn't get too angry. She was sleeping so soundly on the couch that I didn't want to wake her. Or risk Raph's grilling. If she finds out from Mia what I've done, I hope she keeps it a secret until we talk…_ '

Mikey sighed then halted. All this thinking was giving him a headache.

In want of a distraction, the green-clad hero scanned the clearing he'd come to beyond the trees' safety. The same pathway he'd landed on earlier connected with a second then stretched before him like an elegant, gray river. It parted nature from man-made recreation, and on its opposing side laid a familiar site that beckoned him closer.

' _Why'd I come? It's not like she'll be hanging around the playground days after a beat down. It's silly to think I can see her, but…I don't know where else to look. Maybe she—wait!_ '

"You have an awfully spacey act for one with the nerve to call me an amateur, Figo."

Mikey could help his smile about as well as he could turn back an ocean tide. Even so, he made a reminder not to get swept away by its strong pull.

"What are you talking about?" he asked the female behind him. "I may look spacey, but I'm totally aware."

As if to test his claim, movement followed. Mikey whirled at the air pressure he sensed against his head then knelt. Starberry Girl's mouth hung slack with surprise when she glanced through pale green bangs, though she soon clasped it, bringing down the Star Staff she'd tried to aim at his back.

Mikey grinned in response to her snort and leaned so far back that his Supracaudal scute met the asphalt. This warranted perfect leverage to cradle the boot descending towards his lower plastron. When he had it, he lolled back on his carapace, using its curve as aid to project the heroine over his head. She recovered gracefully by dissipating the momentum in a somersault then twisted to land on her feet.

"So you have some right to your claim," she said while compacting her staff. With it no longer than her forearm, she swept it over her shoulder and onto her back. How it stayed, Mikey didn't know

"Maybe if you didn't glory-hog during our team-ups, you'd know that by now."

"If I recall, there wasn't much of a team."

"Oh?" Mikey shrugged. "Guess we should try it again."

"Is that how you play things? You force yourself on signore, ladies, then ask them out on dates?" Starberry Girl spoke like she was annoyed. She crossed her thin arms and scowled, and yet Mikey sensed something else as well, something he knew like second nature: teasing.

' _Is she making fun of me?_ '

With a repressed huff, the mutant crossed his arms too then watched through squinted eyes as she used the parallel bars for leverage before conquering the monkey bars. "I apologized, didn't I?" he asked.

Honestly? The memory of their lips touching lit a fire across his face, and the thumping of his heart couldn't go ignored like he wished.

"Still happened," she remarked with a brief glance his way. Her arms were outstretched while she walked the monkey bars' wooden frame, although a gut feeling left Mikey convinced she didn't need the extra stability.

"No biggie, right?" Mikey tried to keep an even tone. Unfortunately, the realization that he may've disgusted Starberry Girl after all left it uncertain and stiff. "It was just one kiss. A—and an accident."

"Right. An accident…"

' _So she's one of three things: disappointed, relieved, or set on revenge. I can't tell which. Judging by how much she wanted to hit me, it may be revenge. Then again, I don't sense any malice. She told that gangster she could be misleading. Is she stringing me along then?_ '

Mikey tugged at his cowl, grimacing.

' _What do I do? I can't apologize any more than I already have! Then again, maybe that made matters worse. "Sorry I fell on ya and stole a kiss, hur-chuck! I really liked it. Wanna be friends?" Okay, so I left out the liking part, but still. Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!_ '

"Is beating your head how you focus, Figo? Because that would explain a few things."

"Do you hate me?" Mikey blurted. The action was involuntary, like his step forward, and a surprisingly strong gasp left the heroine.

She paused on the monkey bars, shifting so she faced outwards, then tugged at the hem of her pleated, pink skirt. "What gave you that idea? I came back, didn't I?"

"Maybe you just wanted to tell me off."

"Have I?"

The mutant tensed, wishing he could see the eyes behind the black mask. "Guess not."

"If I hated you, you would know." With a new smirk, the green-haired female crossed her arms again, though her voice didn't echo with the full confidence from before. "S—so our first meeting got a little awkward. We could…that is…uh"—she sighed—"let's say 'try not to think too hard about it'? I am a little interested in knowing you."

"Only a little?" Mikey countered.

"First rule of business would be your name. You never revealed it Friday night."

"Well someone never gave me the chance."

Starberry Girl snorted then lept from the monkey bars to meet the mutant's grin. "What can I say? I was in the zone."

"No doubt. Nearly fifteen guys—"

"Seventeen."

"However many they were, the police must've had a busy night. Though it's likely the punks were released without a charge against them."

"Who said there wasn't a charge?"

Blinking, Mikey returned the young woman's amused smirk with a raised eye ridge. "Uh, they were assaulting _you_. Without testimony, they'll walk."

"Unless a little pink and black fairy had prepared for the occasion and stashed several bags of Coke on their person."

"You framed them?"

"Hardly. They owned the bags. I just made sure the police knew they did."

"You really think things through."

"Like I said, I'm no dilettante."

The hero blanched. "You can stop throwing that in my face."

"Can't help it; really pissed me off, Figo."

"You can also stop with the 'Figo', Chibi Hoshi. I don't even know what it means."

The green-haired heroine shrugged one shoulder. "Don't like it? Tell me what to call you."

"Er, well, that's…" Mikey glanced down then up again. "I have a name, except you can't use it."

"What's the point then?"

"You can use it when we're talking like this, but…I can't have the news reporting it. It would be a dead giveaway to my family."

"Ah, gotcha." Starberry Girl nodded in a way that spoke volumes of her understanding, and she brushed aside some of her straight bangs. "So? What is it?"

"Turtle Titan."

"I'll call you TT."

Mikey rubbed the side of his neck as the young woman chuckled. ' _That somehow sounds worse than Figo…_ '

"Alright, TT." Walking in front of Michelangelo, Starberry Girl smiled impishly. "You ready for our first real team-up?"

* * *

 **A:N:** I love writing Turtle Titan and Starberry Girl interactions. That banter. LOL. Look forward to more of them come next chapter. ;)


	9. Duo

**A/N:** Meant to post this, but apparently I'm so out of it, I mistook yesterday for Wednesday. Gah! Enjoy!

 _D:_ I wouldn't say Mikey's trying to impress anyone, let alone consider him 'desperate'. He's just feeling a little self-conscious and scared he had made a bad impression. How would you feel accidentally kissing a stranger? Stressful, but funny. For us. LOL

 _WOLF_ : Then here's more banter for ya! Thanks! :D

 _Sciencegal_ : Love dorky Mikey. He's one of those 'thinks he can be smooth, but her really isn't' sorta guys. Like Will Smith. Ha! (Glad you like Mia, at least. Gavin's so...Gavin.)

 _Feather_ : You're back, and of course filled with lovely reviews. Thanks for loving Starberry Girl! Yeah, Turtle Luck and a certain someone is involved in that matter. But you have to wait a while. Like knowing where 'Starberry Girl' comes from. There is SO MUCH to come, so stay tuned. :) (BTW, good luck with moving!)

* * *

 **Chapter 09:** **Duo**

Hun ran his fingers over the rippled border of a NYPD badge. Its gold surface was cool, yet bit the gangster's fingertips like a flame, reminding him of what it meant.

"Is that all he left?" Switchblade questioned.

Smirking, Hun glanced up from his desk to see the blonde cyborg cross his sleek, metal arms. "Disappointed?"

"It's been over a month since he started dropping things off. You'd think we'd have something more…substantial."

"This _is_ substantial," the mammoth snapped. He slammed a palm against his desk, its shake violent enough to avert Switchblade's blue gaze. Good; the smaller gangster had no right to look at him with annoyance anyway. "Patience heeds results in this case. All evidence before now has gone unreported because police are reluctant to accept the reality of a dirty cop. But the idea's been planted. And its inception is what will spark a real investigation, like planned."

"Meanwhile, the dealer's exchanging information we can barely use," Switchblade grumbled. His tensed jaw was not misplaced, and when he sneered, Hun straightened.

"A deal was struck," the PD leader started flatly. "He knows forsaking it will bring death. While we started our part immediately, he had to wait for an opportunity. Now that it's been presented, though, he has no excuse."

"Think he'll actually get in?"

"For his sake, he'd better. Or I'll turn this situation on all of Precinct Nineteen."

A snigger bounced Switchblade's metallic shoulders around with soft clanks. Then, he grinned in anticipation. "So where do you want the badge planted?"

* * *

Michelangelo had an easy time keeping up with Starberry Girl across Chinatown's rooftops. She seemed surprised by that. For a good fifteen minutes, he purposefully kept on her heels, and on occasion she glanced over her shoulder to check his status. And then sped up.

"You won't lose me!" he cried to the green-haired heroine ahead.

A huff followed, diminished by the passing wind, yet Starberry Girl brought the unsaid competition to a halt by mounting the crest of a long Chinese-style roof. "Impressive stamina," she noted.

Once the young woman began walking the roof's thick crest, Mikey followed on its upturned lip made from ceramic tiles. "Not used to a partner who can keep up?"

"More like I find it unbelievable someone can hold par with my training."

"I can say likewise. Sensei's always had high-standards. But it's been for the best."

"Usually is. No matter how much I bled or how many bones I broke, Maestra wouldn't take no for an answer."

"Uh, question." After raising his hand, Mikey let in hang in the air before falling. "Is a 'maestra' anything like a 'maestro'?"

"Cosa?"

"I don't get it. What does music have to do with blood and fighting?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Don't tell me an evil music teacher steered you down the path of heroism. Because that origin story—"

Starberry Girl cut the mutant off with a deep scowl. "I'm not talking about music, sciocco!"

"Then"—Mikey paused as the heroine jumped on the roof's decorative end—"why bring up maestro-thingies?"

"Caspita, you're even pronouncing it wrong," Starberry Girl spat. "It's 'mah-estrah', and it's simply a term for my teacher, Madam Vermillion."

Hold. The. Press.

Michelangelo stared at the stationary female silhouetted by the last quarter moon, and swore his heart stopped. "D—did you say…Madam Vermillion?"

"Si. She inspired me to become a hero."

"You"—the news still spun his mind—"know her?"

"Why are you gawking?"

"Because you _know_ Madam Vermillion!"

Mia's advice be damned; the mutant simply couldn't contain his excitement nor act natural. Adrenaline surged through his veins like a high, and it was all he could do to keep from squealing. Yes, squealing. He did, however, flail his arms then jump in place for several seconds, smiling broadly.

"I take it you're a fan," Starberry Girl remarked, lip quirked.

When Mikey raised his head, his tone hitched. "Yes!"

"Guess she's popular even in the States."

"Does this mean all the phrases you keep dishing out are Italian?"

The green-haired heroine nodded then hopped off the roof's décor so her boots slid down the tiles' gentle pitch. "English is my third language, so you may notice an increase in Italian when I'm upset."

"Gee, haven't seen _that_ yet," the mutant jested. He sent Starberry Girl a playful grin at the roof's end, which she mirrored. "So what's your second language?"

"What do you think? You don't train under a Chinese-born hero for five years and not pick up things. It's my weak language, though. I'm better suited for Spanish."

"Can all those languages fit in such a small head?"

"I get the feeling you only speak two. Does that mean your head is filled with mostly empty space?"

The duo's gazes met under the moonlight. While hidden by two masks, Michelangelo sensed a connection—as if neither his cowl nor her face-protection existed. A ghost sensation spread over his lips when his mind convinced him he _knew_ what her eyes looked like, so he forced his attention aside with a rough cough. Starberry Girl did likewise, although her cough evolved into a strained chuckle.

He found it cute.

"Haven't met many people who roll with my sense of humor," the young woman said. "They're usually offended."

"I have three older brothers. It'll take a lot to offend me."

"Good."

Mikey jerked his head towards Starberry, somewhat startled by her vigor.

"Means I won't have to hold back," she added.

"In that case,"—the green-clad hero crossed his arms and grinned—"neither will I."

"Think you can out tease me?"

Mikey's grin widened at her smugness. "Bring it on, Chibi Hoshi."

"Just you wait; I'm really good at this game."

"What a coincidence. So am I. Maybe we were destined to meet."

' _Way to go, mouth. Can you sound any dorkier?_ '

Mikey chuckled weakly, his smirk faltering when the heroine glanced away. Again. She mumbled something he couldn't quite make out then lept to an opposing roof set close on their left.

"From now on, call me Star, by the way; my title's a mouth-full."

"That may get a little weird," the mutant said, his face scrunched.

"Why?"

"I already know a Star. And when I say the name, I think of her."

"Afraid you'll get us mixed up?"

"Not exactly." Mikey refrained from shuddering when his mind compared Star's rotten-tooth smile with Starberry Girl's current smirk. It was rude to favor one above the other, but… "I'll call you Hoshi. It means 'star'."

"If you're not using English, then I won't either, Figo."

"Fair enough. Now are you finally going to reveal what you had in store for our team-up? Or did you just really want to hang out?"

"Easy, big green," Hoshi countered.

"I don't do easy."

The heroine snickered. "Then this should be fun."

"I'd agree. If I knew more about what we're doing. Are you tracking down Purple Dragons?"

"No. The spot where the two gangs were warring for recruits has been silent all weekend. It's likely the arrest of so many Forty-Fours deterred the PDs from moving. They'll probably be back, but it'll be a while."

"So what's your mission now?"

"Who says I have a mission?"

Mikey raised an eye ridge—an action he could only hope she sensed. "My brothers and I have been doing this gig for almost nine years. I know when someone has a goal in mind."

"Reading people like that is kind of scary."

"It's also part of being a"—the mutant paused to prevent himself from saying 'ninja'—"hero."

"Well, hero, what are your thoughts on the EPF?"

' _Don't tell me she's involved after all._ '

"Why?" Mikey asked, cautious.

Hoshi pursed her mouth then ventured along the roof's lip. "Many people I meet nowadays hold nothing except praise for them. I need to know where you stand."

"Because if I'm one of the opposing few, you'll cut short our team-up?"

"Far from it," the human spat while whirling his way. "I'll thank my lucky stars that we share some common ground. Even in Italy he had a positive image…"

"Who?"

"Bishop."

"You're joking," said Mikey flatly. The idea sounded preposterous. Bishop's grip didn't extend that far…did it?

"Wish I was," Hoshi replied with a sigh.

"Why would he be in Italy?"

The heroine flinched. It clearly wasn't an action she could control, and she recovered by stretching casually. Much like Mikey would do.

' _She must have history with Bishop to scowl like that. Don't think she'll talk about it so soon, though._ '

"Have you seen his promotions plastered all over this city?"

Mikey scoffed towards Hoshi's turned back. "Not even a blind person can miss them. He's got flyers in the streets, billboards, press coverage, and a commissioner in his pocket. What's he trying to do, run for president?"

"More like world dictator."

' _Why does she sound so serious?_ '

"Least this is a relief." Soft words cut through Mikey's daze. "You aren't defensive about him, which means you must be on my side. Right?"

"Fully; he's a rat."

Hoshi smirked at his frown, though kept quiet a long moment, as if assessing his answer. Once her decision was made, she opened her mouth for a reply, a smirk forming across her thin lips. It was for naught.

A sudden boom silenced her with surprise—its power resonating through the thick air—and Mikey jumped to her side out of instinct. His gloved-hand almost touched her arm before he realized the danger wasn't local: it glowed in the distance.

"Is that…?" The hero narrowed his eyes at an orange haze beyond the numerous rooftops. It flickered like a giant torch against the blue tiles, black smoke pluming into the smog-sky above.

"And the pattern continues," Hoshi mumbled beside Mikey. A second later, she took off.

Michelangelo followed suit. Their fast pace placed them on the outskirts of Chinatown, near Bowery Street in Little Italy, and the lower vantage from a flat-roof restaurant gave the perfect view of a short fire. It engulfed a round structure resembling a toll booth, earnestly eating through its white walls and dome top without mercy.

"This is a recent Hub," Mikey noted. He studied shattered glass glistening across the wide intersection below. Their outward pattern reached a long parking lot on the other side, but the damage looked minimal, considering. "Think anyone's inside?"

"Doubt it," Hoshi answered, rigid. "The others had no casualties."

"Still, we should check."

"Is that fancy leather fire-proof?"

Although she had a point, Mikey sent a mild glare. ' _I don't feel right not knowing. EPF goon or not, there may be a human life at stake._ '

So, frowning with resolve, the hero positioned himself along the restaurant's ledge; regardless of the young woman's call. Though she gripped his bicep, movement along the sidewalk is what seized him.

"Do you see that?" Hoshi asked while reaching behind her.

"Yeah." Mikey watched as her staff separated from her white tank-top after a notable amount of force.

' _Does she wear a magnet under there?_ '

"He doesn't seem very concerned by the fire."

"Meaning he could've started it."

"Is it just me, or is that guy in police blue?"

"Let's get down there before—huh?"

Hoshi leaned over the edge, her ponytail bouncing as she whipped her head left and right. "Where'd he go?"

"You're kidding!" Mikey joined her. "That was _so_ a ninja move! But he didn't look like Foot."

"Ninja? Foot? What are you talking about, Figo?" The heroine faced the mutant, yet he didn't acknowledge her, his eyes fixed on the fire.

"I wanna ask Raph. But he might overreact to me being so close to a bombing. If I look into this I might be reported. Then again, it's not like I can let things be…"

"What are you mumbling about?"

"I have a proposition." Mikey spoke suddenly, so he couldn't tell if either his voice or suggestion turned Hoshi's scowl into confusion.

"And that would be?"

"We'll talk about it _after_ we check for survivors."

Indignation downturned Starberry Girl's mouth. Even so, she prepared to jump, placing her staff against her back. He wanted to question her reluctance; it seemed misplaced for a heroine—especially one who was apparently trained by Madam Vermillion. Now wasn't the time for such things, however, and the duo descended into the street with a single mission in mind.


	10. Kids

**A/N:** Got the right day this time. ROFL.

 _D:_ Gotta admit, Mikey is very hopeful in general. Don't worry, he'll ease back into "normal" soon. :)

 _WOLF_ : Such mysteries. Gotta wait and see! ;D

 _Feather_ : Now I just have images of Mikey using Will Smith lines. Future one-shot? Maybe. XD You have a right to be worried for Hugh and Leo...Anyways, I'm so happy you caught onto that Madam V detail. I'm sure many other readers are like "Who?" :D

* * *

 **Chapter 10:** **Kids**

Wednesday afternoon arrived quickly for Nia. Of course, that could be because the last two days were a haze due to her Anemia. The artist had acted lightly when she told her husband she'd stay the night Tuesday; however, between working, thinking about Splinter, keeping collected for her mother, and dealing with her father, she felt drained of what little drive she did retain.

She couldn't call in, though. If she stayed in the Lair all day, she was certain she'd hurt something of Donatello's. Possibly even Melody. And Raphael would insist she do nothing. In the end, there was little choice, so she finished re-packing her overnight bag in her parents' room, thankful her father was currently teaching.

"You…went to sleep awful early last night," Mia said in the king-size bed. "Are…you okay?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" Nia countered while turning away from the dresser top. She flashed a smile, although the action required much effort.

The brunette looked neither thrilled nor convinced; and her usually-friendly features were darkened by a conflicting emotion that only worsened Nia's migraine. "I'm confined to a bed, Ni, not blind," the woman chided.

The daughter met her parent's wide-set gaze, reluctant. "I've been eating all the food Daddy makes."

"It's not just…food." With an uncoordinated shake of her head, Mia wiped her mouth when her words slurred. "Y—you're exhausted."

"A little."

"A lot. I can see it…in your eyes."

' _I should remember: it isn't Daddy I'm trying to fool_.'

"Nia,"—Mia's sternness sent a small jolt through her child—"your father told me…what you're doing."

For a long moment, Nia was almost too scared to ask. "W—with what?"

"Your blood."

"O—oh, ha—has he?" The artist fidgeted where she stood and reached behind so she could grasp her overnight bag. When her fingers gripped its coarse fabric below the end of her long ponytail, she brought it around to hug, as if it could somehow comfort her anxious heart.

' _Please, please, please, tell me Daddy kept them a secret!_ ' She wanted to squeeze her eyes shut, yet her mother's brown eyes left them paralyzed.

"Y—you hate labs," the woman continued as she drew her arched brows into a frown. "Why give it to research?"

"Research?" Nia whispered.

"That private lab that…asked for your help. The one run by your genius friend. Wh"—Mia dappled her mouth with a handkerchief—"what is his name?"

"Donatello."

"It's hard to believe you would want him to study you…like that. You were always so miserable in those environments. Especially when you were eleven."

"This time I don't have people like Doctor Marx and Jensen prying into me," the artist grumbled, jaw clenched.

Mia gave a weak laugh. "Doctor Marx was nice, though."

' _Yeah,_ _was_ ,' thought Nia once her gaze finally averted. ' _That crazy redhead kidnapped him then probably forced him to make her cyborg. He hasn't been seen since, but…judging from Mikey's retell of their fight, I doubt he's alive._ '

"Ni?"

Nia's head jerked up when her mother sighed. "Yes?"

"Your father told me you were doing better. Looking healthy…pain-free. Wh—why would you give all that up for…for experimental science?"

"Daddy didn't explain?" The brunette cocked her head of short hair, which downturned every muscle in the artist's face. "Figures. He probably wants me to look reckless."

"I could never believe such a thing. You've always been cautious, baby, even as a child."

"Well, I'm only doing it to save someone," Nia added, meeting her mother's dying smile.

"With your"—Mia paused like the words choked her—"special alien bloodline?"

Her turned neck felt stiff when she nodded, yet Nia did so anyway, and barely managed to prevent her limbs from shaking. "Raph's father has cancer. He's entering the late stages. I—if we can't…If I don't give my all, and s—something happens, I would _never_ forgive myself."

"Don't place such pressure on your shoulders." Mia spoke over the last part of her daughter's sentence—a sharp, pained action. And her face grew stoic when their eyes reconnected. "It isn't right for anyone to think 'their life is in my hands'. Not in a case of cancer."

"But—"

"Is he getting other treatment?"

Breath hitched, Nia gripped her bag so tightly she could feel the extra converse between the clothes. "He…can't."

"Why? A hospital won't possibly turn away a sick man. He could get financial aid or—"

"Mama, he _can't_!" It hurt: watching her mother flinch and remembering her clan's disadvantage. It hurt even worse when she realized she couldn't explain fully, and her eyes prickled when the woman in bed nearly fell over while resituating beneath the covers.

"It seems there's a lot your new friends can't do. Like see me."

"Mama…"

"You want to wait until I'm stronger. So you say. But I'm strong now…A little scrawny, small, and I may slur or…spit or pause for breath now and again. But my mind isn't as fragile as you and your father think."

' _She's right. Especially when she's upset. Still…_ '

"Why are you so scared?"

Nia couldn't stand the wounded stare she felt against the side of her aching head. She couldn't speak, either, with her chest clenched.

After a short pause a sigh drifted across the room. "I'll find out eventually, Ni. Just…promise me something."

Begrudgingly, Nia faced the brunette. "Y—yes?"

"Don't assume responsibility. This man's health isn't in your hands. You can help, apparently. It's all rather confusing, but…you don't need that weight on your back. It must be shared…"

"You waited until Daddy was gone to bring up this conversation," the daughter whispered.

"Of course. You hide around him, more so than me."

"And you were probably hoping I'd tell you more."

"Well," Mia drawled, "I did find out…more than if he were here."

"Sorry," Nia croaked.

"There was another angle as well. You mentioned something about work. But your father's…been home more often. You wanted to talk away from him…right?"

' _Is this about the new volunteer coming today? No, I already mentioned that before passing out last night. Then…Oh, right. The kids!_ ' While a small pang of guilt stabbed her gut, Nia didn't dwell on it. She had forgotten because of her Anemic haze, which couldn't be controlled.

So, straightening against the dresser, she inhaled, and regarded her mother's change of subject with a thankful smile. "This may come as a bit of a surprise.

 **0 - 0 - 0**

Sophia Moretti heaved a sigh. Generally, the twenty-four-year-old had no problem volunteering. She loved being helpful, honestly, and the sense of pride she took in it was one of her most defining traits. She thought. But the fact that her mother signed her up for work at The Warner-Frost Services left her somewhat surly and stalking the halls.

' _She's only doing this to fill my schedule. My job's part-time and now to keep me from going out, she does_ this _? She knows I don't do well with kids! It's not even on purpose; I just make them cry._ '

While shameful to admit, it was truth. And it weighed like bags of sand on her small chest.

Halting in the empty hallway, the young woman glanced towards a long mirror that ran between two office doors. It was hung eye-level for average adults; but, since Sophia's petite frame only reached five-foot-one, her mouth was cut off from view.

She first noticed the peaks of her blonde pigtails. They stood higher than her head because the decorative bows pushed them up, and she idly fiddled with them as her vision fell on her face.

It didn't look scary. The dusting of freckles across her lightly-tanned skin was endearing to most. And her round, close-set eyes added to its child-like persona, which she exemplified with her clothing style. Sure, her upturned nose had been compared to a pig on occasion.

However, the exaggeration was told by a child. And Sophia had retaliated for it.

' _This is the worst place for me, Mum. I'll end up fighting the children. Do you really want calls like that?_ '

With any luck, the blonde could wander around and avoid them. When Irma Flemming—the eccentric boss—introduced her to the building, she had been given little instruction anyway. The elderly woman was obviously distracted by whatever strange thoughts crossed her mind and she had told her new volunteer to find Sarah Brown for further details.

Whoever that was.

' _I asked the front-desk receptionist, Miss Heart, where to find her. She didn't seem very keen on the idea. Guess they don't like one another…Oh._ '

Sophia raised her chin when she noticed a well-dressed man standing in the cavity of an office.

He remained silent a moment longer before a lopsided grin formed on his groomed face. "You okay? Staring into space can get you hurt." He must've thought her a baby, judging by his tone. Maybe he even confused her for one of the locals living there.

"I'm twenty-four," she retorted. "I can stare where I want, stronzo!"

"Uh, that's not—"

"Where's Sarah Brown?"

"Uh"—the man either paused in confusion or contemplation—"Right; the artist. I saw her head down the stairs a while ago. She mentioned something about needing another tarp, although she has, like, five."

Sophia crossed her arms over her pink tank-top. "Where do the stairs lead?"

"Those she took are the only ones that reach the basement, where the tarps would be. If you follow this hall to its end, you'll find them, no mistake."

"Grazie tante." With that single, biting 'thanks', Sophia turned on the heel of her worn pink High-Tops then continued down the hall.

"Hey, be careful!" the man cried behind her. "It's a mess, and I think we have something big living down there."

"I'm sure I can handle a pest or two!" the blonde countered with a huff and wave of her thin arm.

' _Seriously. What does that guy think will happen? It's not like I'll get attacked by a giant rat…_ '

 **0 - 0 - 0**

Nia shifted on the solid box she sat on, watching the two figures that hid behind a broken vanity. "N—no need to be scared, kids," she said, gentle.

"We're not scared!" a dark-haired boy retorted. He barely lifted from his crouch in the basement's dense mess, yet Nia could study his head under the pale lighting. It looked inflated—not a lot; just enough to connect it with the shape of a balloon—and his haphazard hair covered it fully, as if to hide his large forehead behind wavy locks.

' _Remember what Mama said,_ ' the artist reminded herself. ' _Connect first. Once you know the problem, it'll be easier to find a solution…Oh, part of me wishes she would've convinced me to contact someone. I—I have no idea what I'm doing._ '

Then again, it was probably a good sign her mother suggested otherwise. It meant she could keep a valued secret, and trusted others' anonymity.

' _Maybe she could meet the guys after all…_ '

"Y—you haven't told anyone about us, have you?" A sweet, trembling voice drew Nia's attention to the female, who peered over the vanity ledge like a curious animal.

Shaking her pounding head for focus, the young woman smiled then gazed into the wide, bright eyes peeking through a layer of long hair. "I—I haven't told any adults here. Promise."

"But you came back," the boy said miserably. "Doesn't that mean you want us to leave?"

"What? I—no. I just…"

' _How do I put this?_ '

"I—if you aren't here to kick us out and you haven't told anyone…then why visit?" A tinge of hope lined the young girl's words; Nia sensed it like a warm pressure on her mind.

"I want to help," the older female answered. "Y—you know you can't stay here forever. E—eventually Lacio Circus will move."

"So we'll do what we always have," the boy noted with a frown.

"What's that?"

"Find a new hiding spot," the girl finished. Tips from the brown hair around her mouth were caught by her lips, so she lifted an equally-as-hairy hand to pull them away.

"I hear a circus is a lot like a family," Nia said over the girl's light spitting. "Why run from them instead?"

"They're not family," grumbled the boy. Although he seemed too young to understand grim trials, his wide-placed eyes soldered like black coals.

"Wh—why not?"

The boy twisted his head away, leaving the girl to lift higher from the vanity. "We're not cared for."

"Quiet, Rose!"

Rose snarled at the 'clawed' hand pinching her arm—an action that resembled a true werewolf movie. "Stop, Barry! I want a normal friend for once. Don't you?"

Barry, round nose scrunched, stood to his full height—a whole half-body taller than expected for a preteen. "This secret is ours! If we give it away—"

"You won't be as lonely." Nia interjected with stern words, which surprised even her. One bright and one dark set of eyes landed on her like gavels, yet she continued under their scrutiny. "I—I may not look it, but I'm not so normal either. I kept it a secret. Tried to deny it. Hide. And…I had no friends because I did so."

"We—we came here because…we like watching the other kids," Rose admitted while tugging at the hair on her arm

"We wish we could be like them," Barry followed up, glancing down at his misshapen hands.

"Who says you can't be?" Nia asked. She slipped off her seat to near them, except they quickly backed away, like little mice. She thought she had made a wrong move, at first, and backpedaled to correct it. Only, their wide gazes shot past her, over her shoulder as if they saw the Boogeyman.

"Is it common to keep kids in basements?" a new voice questioned.

When Nia spun around, she knocked over an old lamp. The fat object was caught in her hands seconds before it hit the dirty floor, although her stomach continued to drop when she came face-to-toe with a pair of scuffed High-Tops. Glancing upwards, she noticed a petite blonde standing on the stack of boxes before her, quirking a brow below fluffed bangs. In fact, it was the same delivery girl who often brought pizzas to April's shop.

Well, this would take some explaining.


	11. Bug

**A/N:** I know, I was supposed to have this out last Thursday. But I wasn't feeling very motivated. :/

* * *

 **Chapter 11:** **Bug**

From the armchair that cradled his aching form, Splinter noticed Donatello. The purple-masked Chūnin glanced across the living room, towards the Lab's unlit hallway. Even without his trained peripheral vision, the master could detect the action simply by his son's apprehensive Chi. It reverberated like a gentle pulse against the atmosphere, and he held little wonder about the cause.

After all, he had overheard the fight between mechanic and biologist long before the group decided on a movie.

"Lover's spat got ya down?" Michelangelo chimed when the bō master sighed.

Donatello immediately leaned towards him on the couch, speaking in a whisper clearly meant to exclude his father, "I'd rather not talk about it in front of Sensei."

Splinter frowned as the faint words carried over a male actor's muddled line. _'Because I have cancer means my ears are clogged? What must I do to prove my competence?_ '

"Mel just needs some time alone for study." Donatello added this with new casual composure, like it would fool the older mutant. "She has a test coming up, Olson says."

"I'm pretty sure she's smart enough to pass," Michelangelo replied just as coolly. Splinter was well-aware his youngest son accepted Donatello's 'unsaid' request for aversion, and almost sighed at how two of his children thought they were being discreet.

"Probably," Donatello countered. "But she favors preparedness. Maybe she'll join us later."

"Like when? Give it half an hour; Raph'll be face-down in the popcorn, Sensei'll be snoring, and you'll be in the middle of an in-depth critique."

"When's the last time I passed out in food, Shell-for-Brains?" Raphael growled by Michelangelo's right side

The orange-masked mutant wiggled in the tight fit between his siblings, facing the hothead. "I have a photo collection."

"Liar."

"No, it's true. Ask Nia."

Swish! Splinter turned his attention from the cable movie to see his youngest son somersault off the couch, barely avoiding Raphael's attempted slap against his head. The jokester popped up from the rug with a smile on display, and in seconds a discarded popcorn bowl from Raphael pushed Donatello onto the couch's armrest.

"Come on now; don't be shy, Raphy Boy!" Mikey cried, rounding the beaten furniture to avoid the hothead's charge. "You make the cutest sleepy faces!"

"Ya'll be a 'sleepy face' soon! Come here!"

Their familiar bickering felt like a warm compress to a wound, yet its comfort dwindled fast when Donatello chuckled. Reminded of his genius son's words, Splinter straightened, his dark gaze cutting like an arrow through the thickening atmosphere while Raphael fought Michelangelo in the background.

"Though I may snore, I am not dumb," the wizened rat remarked in a thin voice.

Donatello caught the insinuation without delay, and froze, glancing up at his father from the couch's far left cushion.

"You argued with Melody-san over your options for me. When will I get a say?"

"Sensei—"

"Is it not _my_ body?" The tone was sharper then intended; however, he could no longer contain frustration and clenched a cane between his stout legs in exchange for his jaw. "I am no biological expert. Even so, I am capable of making my own health choices."

"The only _choice_ is to help you," Donatello countered. His tripped words caused his head to shake, his breath to quicken.

So Splinter raised then lowered a paw beneath his decorative shawl in a calming gesture. "I do not wish to argue. I have been thinking of my options. I only ask you be prepared to honor them, no matter which I choose."

"Mel's been speaking with you about Chemo, hasn't she?" the bō master shot back flatly.

"You and O'Neil-san were to formulate that route. Yet you do not put as much effort into it as…Recro-12."

"So says Mel."

"So says experience as your father, Donatello."

With a sigh, the turtle mutant glanced away and wrung his large hands.

"Please, my son," Splinter started after a short pause, "prepare something. It would be hard on me, but I can endure. Otherwise, there may be nothing left that is capable of healing."

"Don't say such things," Donatello whispered with a hitch. "Onegai…"

"Then consider Melody-san may have the best idea."

"To deal drugs from the Black Market?"

Splinter stared hard at his son's tightening grasp, although he had no real answer to give. ' _I am quite conflicted myself. O'Neil has apparently spoken with Anders-san about possible connections, yet…the odds of procuring what is needed for Chemo are slim. While I loathe the thought of shady dealings…am I ready to face death for the sake of uprightness?_ '

"Otōsan, Raph hit me!"

Blinking away new anxiety, Splinter landed his attention on Michelangelo. The orange-masked Chūnin sulked forward with one hand rubbing his cheek. He pouted for comedic show, and the master was certain if the younger mutant were small enough, he would have curled into his father's lap like years ago.

"You were not fast enough," Splinter noted before sharing an amused smile with Raphael.

"Is that all you have to say?"

"A ninja must always be prepared for defense."

Michelangelo stopped at the armchair, hunched and blanching. "You're a mean daddy."

Chuckling was an instinctive response. It bubbled in Splinter's chest, though was cut short by a deep cough that reminded him of a thickness in his lungs. The moment lasted only a few seconds, thankfully, and a strained smile formed across his snout as he lifted the chin he had never meant to tuck.

"Dry throat," the master said while repressing any raspy gulps for air.

"Sensei…"

Splinter shook his head at Donatello. "If anything, it is a bug that shall pass. Nothing more."

"Should I get some cold medicine?" Michelangelo added.

"We should finish the movie."

The youngest Hamato shrugged lightly, his stance now straight. "Wasn't as good as we were hoping anyway. Really, I can get—wait"—he craned his neck towards the Lair entrance—"is that the door?"

"Melody hasn't come out," Donatello remarked, standing to give the Lab's hall another look.

"Nia then?"

"Thought she'd call if she were comin' home," Raphael grumbled.

The trio of brothers watched a figure enter the Lair with interest. She was dressed in color—especially her jacket—and waved meekly when she noticed the attention on her.

"Nia-chan!" Michelangelo cheered. He was the first to her side for a hug, although Raphael soon replaced his arms.

"Why didn't ya call?" the hothead questioned. Splinter smiled at how his son's amber eyes surveyed the human, as if searching for any injury below her rainbow tights and patch-work top.

"Th—the weather was nice," Nia protested while gently gripping her husband's arm.

"I don't give a shit about the weather; the _weather_ won't kill ya."

"Raph."

"Why'd ya walk here alone?"

Nia probably sensed the nervousness beneath Raphael's growl better than Splinter did, and to him, it was painfully obvious. The hothead stepped back to cross his bulky arms while the black-haired human kept close, a guilty expression on her face.

"I—I didn't mean to worry any one" she said while glancing over the group.

Raphael snorted when she rested a hand on his arm, and didn't face her or the group as he spoke in a low Brooklyn voice, "Yeah, well…wit'out us out there, the city's more dangerous than usual."

"Sorry," the young woman whispered. "It's just that…" She sighed, dropping her arm. "Something happened at work today, and I…I needed the time alone."

"What happened?" Raphael roughly cut off the start of Michelangelo's reply. "Is that stupid Heart still givin' ya a hard time?"

"Don't call Nia's heart stupid!" Michelangelo jested. He shared a grin with his little sister, though hers died since Raphael maintained his seriousness.

"This isn't about Heart," the artist said. "It's another girl."

"Who?" Michelangelo questioned.

Nia watched him lean over the couch in intrigue then pursed her dark lips. "A new volunteer," she answered, quite hesitant. "She knows more than I would like her to…"

* * *

"Wait, wait!"

Raphael blanched beside Nia on the couch, giving Michelangelo's standing form full attention simply because the younger Hamato flailed for it.

"So, the new volunteer is April's pizza girl?"

"What's wit' the grin, Shell-for-Brains?" Raph asked.

Blue eyes drifted his way for a moment then returned to Nia. "Her name's Sonya?"

"Sonya Fischer," the artist answered, sweet. She gave the orange-masked brother a pat on his forearm, perhaps to remind him of the group, and he shook his head. "She's, uh…so—something else. And now she knows about the kids."

"Kids?" Donatello interjected at Nia's right side. "What kids?"

Raph situated his arm higher against the backrest when his wife leaned into him, so she could grace the other three Hamatos equally.

"Well," she started, "there're a couple of circus runaways who, uh, hide in the basement of the care center. They made me promise secrecy, but…I'm at a loss for what to do with them."

"What a strange place for hang out," Don noted in a low tone. "Why don't they just visit the other kids?"

A pause followed as Nia's hands found the multi-colored hem of her jacket. "B—because they were born with genetic mutations. Very notable ones. And"—the young woman paused again, as if struggling against a croak—"they've told me others have ridiculed them before."

"Dude, not cool," Michelangelo remarked, brightness dimming with the crossing of his arms.

"And yet they still want to be 'normal'," Nia added. "Though they stay in the basement, there are a few high windows where you can see the playground out back, so they—"

"Imagine they are with the other children," Splinter interjected.

Raphael downturned his gaze at the master's full confidence. He also couldn't reply to his wife's reveal, knowing what his family would say.

"We would sometimes do that when we were little," Mikey admitted with a weak chuckle.

Nia's jerk aside was impossible to ignore, so Raph met her surprised look by shrugging off the lingering envy he once felt. "Happens."

"Turtle proud now," Mikey followed up, "but growing up underground was sometimes really…"

"Hard," Don finished, even. He looked like he would sigh, but instead exhaled calmly, a reminiscent smile on his purple-masked face. "Whenever we'd get in a slump like that, Leo usually pulled us out."

"Yeah,"—Mikey whirled towards his genius brother—"he would come up with a new game or do something to—to reminds us we have each other, at least…"

The Lair's living room fell into a silence that burned Raphael's chest like seeping acid. He loathed how his throat clenched when his family frowned, yet he hung onto the anger over Black Lotus instead of the longing to see his older brother again. Despite that, the way Nia rubbed her cheek against his stretched bicep threatened his control.

"I—I'm sure Leo-niichan wasn't the only one to help you through the spell," Nia said, gaze set on Splinter's solemn expression.

The rat smiled in the armchair, although he remained quiet.

"Y—you guys have each other," the human added softly. "You have a father. These kids…they're alone. I want to help them, except I don't know how."

"What do you know of their history?" asked Don.

"Besides their association with Lacio Circus? Very little. I—I planned to get more information out of them today, but Sonya…"

"What about her?" Mikey sounded genuinely interested in spite of Nia's grimace, leading Raph to shake his head.

' _He should be careful where he places his hope. I—I don't want him hurt again. His heart's strong, not unbreakable._ '

"I had to force her out of the basement because she got in a fight with the kids."

"A fight?"

Raphael sniggered at his brother's wide eyes.

"Sh—she was telling them they shouldn't hide and to get out, so I only caught their names beforehand."

"But," Mikey paused to collect his dropped jaw, "she meant good things behind it, didn't she?"

"I—I—I don't know," Nia answered. Her slight shudder hardly registered against her husband's cracked plastron, yet it struck him enough that he enclosed an arm around her.

' _Weird. She feels warmer than usual. Don't tell me she's caught a bug too._ '

"What do you mean you 'don't know'?" Mikey retorted, eye ridge quirked.

"I can't explain it. Usually, I pick up"—the young woman waved her hands then clenched them like a squishy ball existed between them—"feelings. Intents."

"Electrical impulses," Donny corrected.

"Sure. Those. I get general feelings, but around Sonya my mind is…jumbled. I—it's like I can't focus. I feel numb. Honestly? I can't sense genuine intents or otherwise."

"Then ya outta be careful around her," Raph noted. His grip tightened, if only as a reminder that Nia came home safe, and despite the incredulous look his orange-masked brother sent, he remained stern.

"I'm careful around _everyone_ I meet," his wife murmured.

"Maybe your Anemia's getting worse," Don offered while twisting. His large hand captured Nia's pale arm to check her pulse, so the room grew quiet while he paid attention. "It's a little quick," he said, didactic, before the human sighed. "If you're going to insist on helping _and_ working then no longer come home by yourself. The erratic pressure could knock you out."

"I've been taking my vitamins and Zofran," Nia countered. Like it would make a difference with her clan.

As expected, Don's head shook, much to Raph's relief. "It's not enough, so call us next time."

"Fine, but…" Biting her lip, Nia glanced around. "I don't want to give up on the kids because my body's weak. I still want to help."

"Then we'll help you help them," Mikey replied earnestly.

"H—how?"

"Easy. Do what you've been doing; make friends. Find out what it would take to bring them comfort."

"And what about you?"

"Well"—Mikey shrugged easily, except Raph sensed the scheming undertone right away—"I could visit Lacio Circus. See what it's about."

"Michelangelo." Splinter interjected in a soft voice that cut like a kunai's blade.

Slowly, the orange-masked Chūnin faced him. "Come on, Sensei. The circus is filled with all kinds of Sideshow characters. I'll be fine."

"It's—"

"Shouldn't we help these kids?"

It wasn't often Mikey cut off his father. But when he did, he always spoke with great emotion. Splinter's mild glare faded with a raspy groan as his youngest son stood his ground, and when their gazes reconnected, resignation flicked in the rat's dark eyes.

' _Always gives in for the baby_ ,' Raph thought with a pursed mouth.

"Simple intel," Splinter said.

"Of course!" Mikey countered with a bright grin.

"And take one of your brothers."

The nunchaku master paused then directed a smile at Raph. The hothead nodded, yet got a feeling he wouldn't be along for the trip anyway.

"Very well, my sons. Now…can we finish this movie?"

* * *

Today had been a good day for Agent John Bishop, so he had neither will nor reason to fight his broad grin. It greeted any scientist he passed while delving into the depths of the EPF's Specialty Labs, and the stoic figure accompanying him down the stark-white hallways shook her head at his giddiness.

"You're in awful good spirits for someone who's being terrorized by police," Agent Barrett noted.

"Perhaps." Bishop sent the brunette in uniform a sidelong glance through his sunglasses, then skipped a dress shoe against the floor. "Our Hubs are mostly remote controlled outposts."

The gray-ish woman kept her focus on the iron door the duo approached. "For cover and show, I know, Sir."

"Right. Besides, the attack Monday night left us with evidence."

"Do you honestly believe a cop would be foolish enough to wear a badge to a bombing?"

Bishop couldn't stop his sudden laugh; it boomed against the wide hall and the man reined it in so he could properly apply a palm to the hand scanner beside the iron entrance looming ahead. "Not the ones _we_ are after," the man answered while leaning down to scan his eye as well.

When his sunglasses were pushed back up on his crooked nose, he regarded Barrett with a sly grin. "I convinced a few others it could have been a show of pride, wearing the badge as a trophy that should trump EPF influence. What have you."

"And it doesn't bother you not knowing who's sowing the seeds?"

Bishop shook his head, following Barrett down a line of mesh cages once the doors rolled outwards into thicker walls. "I do not care what _bug_ is helping me," he said over the snarls and yips of unknown creatures. "It is likely for their personal means anyhow. However, it _is_ leading the investigation the way I want. Maybe I should make a visit to the Ninetieth Precinct soon."

"You do love your shows," Barrett remarked aimlessly.

"Oh, more shows are to come, Barrett!" The leader wanted to chuckle, yet bit down the urge to round the cage of a large creature that wasn't breathing, just smelling.

A failure. Again. ' _No matter, I am here on the others' behalves anyway._ '

"You're planning more scenarios like back in October?" While Barrett generally kept emotion from her tone, Bishop detected some confusion and intrigue.

"You must wait and see," the tall man countered. "Biosvert and Yahna have yielded a new way to track the artifact. Marco Rizzo's been spotted in state. And we hold at least one functioning cyborg in our hands. This time, things will go as planned. We no longer have people like Kingston or Lombardo involved. Damn fools."

"That's right. Originally, you wanted to falsify the half-breed's death then keep her for stock."

"More or less. The IgR resides in her blood without the dangerous mix of a Languu's…security field. To be honest, I am quiet sour over losing her to the _turtles_."

"So you want to change the subject."

Fate answered for Bishop. The moment Barrett paused to send her boss a listless look, an animalistic howl sounded through the cage hall. Breathy, gravely—it was an intimidating mix of provocation that barreled past the duo as if an invisible creature of dinosaur-proportions whipped by. And Bishop grinned at its beauty rattling his bones.

"Wh—what was that, Sir?" Barrett questioned in a small voice.

The man met her wide, green eyes. "That? That is my new tracker. And Act One of my new stage."

* * *

 **A/N:** Reviews make me happy. ;)


	12. Nightfall

**A/N:** I apologize for the huge delay, everyone! I was sick for a while then left the country on a cruise. Got back day before yesterday, but I have a full weekend and another busy week ahead. So.

 _Feather_ , so good to hear from you again. Hope moving is going well and you haven't lost anything important. :D I'll have to consider that one shot ROFL. WE ALL MISS LEO! Just a little more time (and by that, I mean _Heroes_ and _Shift_ ) until we see him again. Can't wait. Meanwhile, prepare yourself. Kukuku

 _WOLF_ , look forward to more twists. Here's to hoping the whole book will keep you guessing. Thanks for the reviews! :D

 _Sciencegal_ , I just love Hamato family interactions. :)

* * *

 **Chapter 12:** **Nightfall**

Hugh rummaged through miscellaneous crap on his assigned desk, huffing and cursing while piles of papers and Chocolate Nutty Bar wrappers tipped into the narrow office isle.

"Still looking for your badge?" asked Noah.

Hugh had little patience to meet the brawny Grecian towards the side, and thus scowled as Precinct Nineteen's regular chatter settled between them.

"Is that a 'yes'?"

"It's not your fault, Hughy," Donna's nasally voice added from her work chair.

When Hugh spun on his dress shoe, he noted the mischievous grin the blonde flashed in Noah's direction and waited for her to continue.

"After the EPF's opening ceremony the other week, we were so upset we gave our formal things to Boa Boy to put away."

"First," Noah started in a thin tone, "that sounds like a stripper name, so stop. Second, I put everything back where it belongs."

"Which is why your spare uniform is missing, right?" Donna shot back, leaning forward. Her smile accentuated her face's width, but it was such a common sight that Hugh rarely acknowledged its prominence.

"How do you know its missing?" Noah inquired lowly.

The blonde returned his narrowed gaze with a snort-laugh. "I spilt coffee on me earlier and spares were right there."

"So you looked for _mine_ because?"

"It's big! I love the flow."

"You talk like you know from experience."

"Oh, don't worry; it wasn't there. Or maybe you should worry. Who knows if you did something similar to the CVC incident."

"There was nothing for me to"—Noah paused, reining in his bellow—"accidentally exchange."

"You play it down like mixing up your coat with a victim's isn't a big deal," Hugh remarked, cool.

"I noticed!"

"Yeah; a mile down the road in your cruiser," Blaine interjected. Hugh shared a smirk with his best friend when he joined the group in the aisle; then nodded as the rugged blonde crossed his arms and leaned against an empty desk.

"That happened once," Noah hissed.

"For exchanging evidence," Donna concluded after a firm nod. "Now, misplacing?"

"What'd he misplace this time?" In seconds, Blaine's smirk dropped—his usual flip. "If this has something do with the case files he was supposed to give the Inspector for the domestic disturbances we worked together last week—"

"I thought you had that covered."

Blaine sent Noah a pallid look. "Please tell me you're kidding."

"You should be careful how often your mind slips, McGinnis," a new voice noted. "It'd be such a shame to lose you because you're so skilled at rundowns."

Halting beside Blaine, in front of Donna's desk, Kyle Erlich stood tall in his detective suit. His small mouth formed a smile across his sunken face—although its owner seemed genuinely troubled by the idea—and Hugh left his desk so the group formed a full circle, obscured from others eyes.

"Kyle, haven't seen you in a while," the African-American said while pocketing his hands.

"Well, you _have_ been busy busting large organizations like Black Lotus, haven't you?" the pale-skinned man countered.

"New Jersey had that case. Mainly, I've been focused on losing my wheelchair. And now, my desk."

"Even so, you and Blaine are"—Kyle chuckled—"heroes. Against the odds, tracking leads no one else believed. Wound up responsible for the release of dozens of homeless and missing persons from an underground imprisonment. Sounds like a movie, doesn't it?"

"Kyle—"

"I'm being transferred south."

Hugh blinked at the sharp change of subject, like Kyle's sharp change of tone. "Is that bad?"

"Guess not," the younger man answered, running a hand along his slicked hair. "I just get the feeling my father arranged it."

"Why?"

"Because my eccentric nature about the homeless is too notable here."

"Ya kinda wear the belief on your sleeve," Donna added, blithe.

But Kyle disregarded her like she had said nothing. "Despite Black Lotus' exposure, my focus isn't where Father wants it to be. He often moves me when I 'get out of hand'. Seems ridiculous, though. How am I any more out of hand than _Bishop_? He's the one insisting on more Hubs to ensure every face is cataloged and traceable."

"Not the most comforting feeling, is it?" Blaine growled.

"Not really," Kyle answered. "But if those Hubs could help some way…"

"Reese!"

Hugh's head jerked up from instinct at Wendell Erb's voice, but once he did, his dropping stomach wished he hadn't.

"You have a visitor," the older man continued. His round form walked stiffly down the aisle to meet his underlings, the refrained abhorrence in his gaze clear. It wasn't likely that Bishop missed it, even standing by the second floor stairwell, which made his smile all the more loathsome.

"B—Bishop wants to see Hugh?" Though Donna's dread didn't ease the detective's gut, he spared her a lopsided grin, shrugging before passing Blaine and Kyle.

"Guess I'll see you guys later," he said calmly.

"Wait"—Wendell's fat hand gripped Hugh's bicep with surprising strength—"watch your mouth."

"Believe it or not, I always do," the taller male retorted.

He whisked by his boss then strolled down the aisle of noisy office workers like his goal meant little. He'd be damned before giving Bishop the pleasure of knowing how loud his heart thumped in his chest, and feigned a smile once he reached the agent dressed in a black suit.

"Mister Reese." Bishop spoke with refinement, as if to further embitter the true standing between them.

"Agent Bishop," Hugh countered, stoic. "What would you like to talk about?"

"Oh, it's a simple matter, really."

"Will it take us elsewhere?"

"Is that a concern?"

The test left the detective undaunted, and forced his smile back. "I am a bit busy."

"Such is our lives, right?"

"I assume," Hugh started over the agent's chuckle, "you're here for something important?"

Bishop sent an easy grin, running a casual hand along the stair rail behind him. "Just a reminder. Agent Patterson has reported several instances of uncooperative behavior in Precinct Nineteen. The Commissioner is closely monitoring the EPF-NYPD department merges, so he tends to worry about reports like that. It, uh—"the man clicked his tongue—"it hampers the vision he has."

"You don't say."

"Yes. So I promised I would handle any and all complications that arise."

"To prove what a great guy you are. How touching." Flashes of Wendell's glare raced through Hugh's mind, yet his control was kept by rubbing the side of his stretched neck.

"I want this merge to work."

' _Don't doubt that, crazy man._ '

"For such to happen, we must be on the same page. So," like the imposing calm before a storm, Bishop's voice lowered dangerously, "you should focus on your contracted job. And only that. It would be a shame if _outside relations_ were to affect your coworkers, would it not?"

Hugh froze, and for some reason he could hear the idle chatter of his friends as if they were right next to him.

"Taking my man was not your wisest choice. I know what you did in the evidence locker, despite Samuel Renald's testimony. But you were not the only one there, were you?"

"Leave them out of this," Hugh hissed. He surprised himself at how dark his voice grew, but Bishop's grin widened.

"If you work against me, Reese, who knows what might happen to them—in the field, at home, at work. So be careful where you tread because a lack in evidence may not save you all the time. And it surely would not save them."

"Why aren't you threatening my life? Why them?"

"Obviously, because it bothers you more. And they are so clueless to the danger you have involved them in." With a light chortle, the agent lowered his hand from the railing then gave an approving nod around the open room; though Hugh was sure he damned everyone in there. "Keep up the good work," he added, louder.

"Always," Hugh answered through gritted teeth. He eyed Bishop like a shark as he rounded the railing and started to descend the stairs.

"Nightfall is coming, Detective Reese!" the awful man cried upwards. "Be prepared!"

One glance at the indent Bishop's hand left on the railing convinced Hugh the approaching night outside his precinct was not what his enemy had meant.

* * *

Okay. Sophia knew her personality could be abrasive at times. And maybe her sour mood yesterday had led to some confrontation. Even so, she didn't expect the silent treatment from Sarah Brown at Warner-Frost Services.

Slumped in a narrow hall, the blonde posed with her cheek in one hand, her bony elbow prodding her leg as she watched the artist paint. "Silence doesn't bother you?" she blurted through pressed lips.

The black-haired female paused a brush stroke against the abstract mural, her long ponytail swaying. "I—I'm not much of a talker," she said in an impossibly small voice.

"Why not?"

Sarah shrugged, returning to her casual work, so Sophia sighed.

"Look," she started, "I didn't mean to get off on a bad start yesterday. It just…it really irks me when others don't flaunt who they are. It's a waste."

"You could clearly see why they don't want to, though." While Sarah didn't turn around, her frown couldn't be missed by the blonde's trained senses.

"They shouldn't be so scared."

"They're _kids_."

"Alright, let me rephrase: they shouldn't _have_ to be so scared."

The moment Sophia's tone dropped, Sarah spun on her red Converse. Kneeling, she regarded the petite blonde as if deeply assessing something. Then, her thick eyebrows furrowed below side-swept bangs.

"Y—you haven't told anyone, have you?"

Sophia raised a thin eyebrow. "Come on, I'm not _that_ mean."

"It's important you keep it secret."

"Alright, alright." The blonde raised her hands in surrender to ease her companion's troubled look. "I wouldn't do that. What kind of person do you think I am?"

"I—I don't know…" Sarah seemed awfully troubled with her own mumbling. Wonder why that was. When the dark-haired artist failed to continued, Sophia folded her legs Indian style and leaned forward.

"I haven't said a word," she spoke lowly for respect, "but, seriously…they can't stay down there."

Sarah released a shuddering breath. "I know. I—I'm working on a way to help them, so…"

"If you need backup, let me know. Maybe I could do something."

"But I thought you—" The artist caught herself like she was about to spurt an insult. Maybe she was.

"I what?" Sophia pressed while crossing her arms. However, Sarah remained quiet, causing the blonde to smirk. "Guess I made a worse first impression than I thought. And after all the pizzas I delivered for you and Rosso, Calza."

"You're confusing," whispered Sarah. She caught herself again then shook her head, glancing downwards at the spread of paints on the tarp the females shared.

'I'm _confusing? She's the one with all the weird ticks!_ '

"Wh—what does Calza mean?"

"I told you before."

"I…forgot."

"Eh, whatever. Not like I expect anyone to remember a simple delivery girl. Though I thought we had a special connection: you, me, Rosso, and those piles of pizzas that only _you two_ ate."

Sarah flinched. There was no way under the blue sky Sophia could ignore such a sign. But it wouldn't do any good to push right now. She knew that much. So, inhaling, she grinned.

"'Calza' is short for 'calzamaglia'. Essentially, it means 'tights'"

"Oh…"

"Is that insulting?" The blonde puckered her lips and her vision fell from the artist's pale face to the multi-color dot-print tights she sported below dark-wash shorts.

"N—not really."

"Good. Because it's kind of a habit; I probably wouldn't be able to stop if I tried. Like denying another doughnut."

A huff sounded. Or, a snort. Sophia wasn't quite sure until she caught the slight up-turn of Sarah's dark lips. Grin widening, the blonde threw her arms in the air and cheered so loudly that the artist rolled on her side in surprise.

"That was a giggle, right? You laughed? So you _can_ laugh!"

"Y—yes?" Sarah answered stiffly. She blinked slowly then again, quicker. Her colorful body shot up as she glanced at a pail lid her hand landed on. Lifting it revealed a coating of orange paint across its underside, and the artist slowly rubbed her fingers together. "Great."

"Hey, orange happens to be my second favorite color," Sophia contributed with a light chuckle. "Why not incorporate it into your work?"

Sarah paused at first—a long, pensive action, which was only smothered by a spark igniting like blue fire behind her teal eyes. Snapping the fingers of her clean hand, she spun, knelt at the grassy part of the mural's scenery, and then made quick strokes with her fingers. Sophia cocked her head above the artist, not comprehending what the orange glob was supposed to be. As it layered through presses and smudges over the green-scape, though, an animal emerged.

"An orange tartaruga?" she questioned.

"Tar"—Sarah drew her stained hand away from the little creature—"like 'tortuga'?"

"Yeah. Turtle."

"Oh. I—is there something wrong with him being orange?"

"Nah. Like I said, it's a favorite color of mine. And I don't mind turtles either. Combining them is fun and weird. I like weird! Are you always this weird?"

Sarah's response came in the form of another pensive stare, and Sophia straightened from the bend that placed her face close with the artist. ' _Perbacco. Why does she have to think so much? I can't be that hard to talk with, can I?_ '

"Hey"—the blonde's sudden voice caused the paler female to jolt—"there's nothing wrong with weird, ya know? I happen to be a fan of weird things. I mean, how many girls do you know that have a pet tarantula?"

"Y—you own a tarantula?"

An unmistakable edge of interest in the artist's voice brought a smirk to Sophia. "Si! So don't hesitate to be who you are. I really do hate it when others aren't honest with themselves."

"And yet you fight with children?"

Sophia twitched. ' _Well, least she's taking my advice and not holding back._ '

"I, uh, think that may be a patience issue," the blonde said uneasily.

"You did seem on edge when you arrived," Sarah muttered. Probably to herself. No matter; Sophia tapped her pink High-Top against the tarp in slight shame.

"I'm rough with them, but that doesn't mean I don't care. So I really do want to help…as long as you let me volunteer as your assistant?"

"What?" Sarah blinked. "I—I don't need a—"

Sophia dropped to her knees, dangerously close to three pail lids. "Please! If I say I'm attached to you, it means I don't have to go anywhere else."

"I—I don't get it. Why would you sign up for volunteer work at a giant foster home, slash adoption center when you, uh, d—don't get along with kids?"

"Mum made me." Frank, truthful, the blonde could say no more as she kneeled beside the paints.

"And you won't skip out because…"

"Because she would know, and do something worse. Believe me, her only aim is to make sure my time is eaten outside my job."

"Why?"

Sophia shrugged, although her stomach twisted with frustration when she rose to her feet. "I go out and do things. She's not fond of what I do."

"Is it…bad?" The timidness in Sarah's voice was almost laughable. Almost.

"Not at all. I do good things. Like tonight, I'm heading for Lacio Circus."

"Really?"

"I'm meeting someone."

"Like a date?"

"Sort of," Sophia answered with a snort. "Nightfall's almost here; so I'll probably be leaving soon, actually." The growing reds and orange outside the tall window at the end of the hall signified that much. Now if only… "Could you do me a favor?"

"What kind of favor?"

Hands behind her back, Sophia flashed a sheepish smile. "If Mum contacts the center, can you tell her I stayed later?"

"You want me to lie?"

"Just a little. In turn, if I find out anything about the kids, I'll let you know. Deal?"

Sarah's sigh was low and long, yet she nodded afterwards, standing as well. "To help the kids."

"Right," Sophia shot back. She leapt forward for a friendly hug, wrapping her thin arms around the thicker female's frame. The artist hissed, though, as if struck by an iron prod, so the blonde drew back with her hands on Sarah's shoulders. "A—are you okay?"

Sarah blinked in what looked to be an attempt at clearing her glazed vision. But it remained cloudy while she brought her arms to her stomach, crouching down.

"H—hey!"

"I'm—okay," Sarah managed. "Just…give me a minute."

That wouldn't do. Sophia reached for her again, only to be stopped by a pain of her own. Something like flames bit her chest and she backpedaled, pulling out the collar of her pink t-shirt so she could see between her near-flat breasts. There, the pendulum of a quaint necklace resided, its wire frame and thin chain still warm against her freckled skin.

' _That's weird; since when does the Jade get this hot? It's never done something like this before…_ '

"Wait, a—are you okay?"

Sophia glanced up from the hidden necklace, stared blankly at the artist, and then laughed awkwardly. ' _Bet that looked odd!_ '

"Yeah, I'm fine," the blonde said after clearing her throat. "Now you take a minute. Drink some water. I'll help you clean up a bit before I leave. Okay?"

Sarah nodded while reaching for a water bottle beside her, though she swayed when she did. All Sophia could hope was that the pale young woman didn't fall over.

* * *

 **A/N:** So, there you have a little insight into Hugh's general work day. Seems things are turning south, but this is just the start. Next up, "Lacio Circus", where we introduce another member of the _Heroes_ cast and follow Mikey on his investigation. ;)


	13. Lacio Circus

**A/N:** Posting this early before I leave for the weekend!

 _Duckie_ and _Sciencegal_ , I enjoy writing Nia and Soap hanging out. It needs to happen more often. Give it time, right? As for Bishop...that would make an interesting story. Centered on an assassin that keeps trying to kill Bishop and just fails so often, he says SCREW IT. XD

 _Wolf_ , the real question should be "IS that really Jade...? Hum." ;) The show HEROES has nothing to do with this story, actually, so it makes no difference. "A Tale of Heroes" is a title I picked because this story focuses so heavily on heroic sacrifices and struggles. :)

 _Feather_! Moving sucks. I'm sorry. Meanwhile, Mighty Cop Force. Love it. Don't think I've ever given them a name, that I can recall. We could always call them Cop Force Four. ROFL. Donna needs to bring up this topic at some point now. Thanks for the inspiration. And keep looking forward to more questions. Mwahaha!

BTW, Sophia has a tarantula, a giant ass spider. Not a turtle. Bet Raph will look forward to meeting it. ROFL

* * *

 **Chapter 13:** **Lacio Circus**

Kaiya Williams _had_ been excited. Now? She felt downright frustrated.

Daddy had taken her to Lacio Circus, just like she'd wanted since seeing the clowns talk on TV. After school, he picked her up for the special night, and Uncle Hugh came as well! But something was wrong.

The grown-ups were acting weird. No matter what cool elephant or tiger Kaiya pointed out, how much cotton candy she was allowed, or how close they sat to the ring inside the Big Tent, they never smiled like they meant it. Their voices were strained. Sometimes, they would ignore her. And she had caught a few mean stares between them whenever she turned around.

' _Am I in trouble after all?_ ' the little blonde thought, seated in a big crowd. The flexible man and woman playing on swings below spotlights hardly held her attention, so she glanced sideways.

The grown-ups were whispering again. Daddy leaned close to Uncle Hugh in his plastic seat, arms crossed like he was (as Mommy often called it) 'stewing'.

"Can we drop this already, Hugh?" Maybe Daddy thought she couldn't hear his harsh tone, yet she could over the soft music of the act. "This was supposed to be a nice date with my daughter."

"I know, and I'm sorry," Uncle Hugh replied, even harsher. "But it's important now more than ever to consider."

"The threat was for the adults."

"Because of what we know."

"No, because of what _you_ know, Hugh."

Daddy turned his head sharply when he raised his voice, so Kaiya looked away before he noticed her. The girl couldn't explain why her stomach hurt so much, but it continued to curl as the blonde grown-up returned to her dark-skinned uncle.

"I fucking swear if Bishop does anything to her—"

"Her abilities have been ignored, haven't they?" Uncle Hugh cut off Daddy rudely, and the following pause tightened Kaiya's jaw.

"We talked about that when you returned from visiting Michelangelo."

"She didn't hurt herself."

"No, but wouldn't it be best not to show off her…her…"

"Say it, Blaine. Powers."

Must Daddy scoff? He always did that when Uncle Hugh or Mommy mentioned what she could do. It would get really scary at times, like when she wanted to show off her speed to Megan. What was so wrong with it?

"That's a ridiculous term," Daddy finally said.

"It's accurate."

Daddy scoffed again.

"Blaine"—Uncle Hugh sounded calm, yet his voice made the girl wring her tiny hands—"I know you're stressed. Despite that, you _must_ consider my suggestion."

"I never asked for any of this," Daddy snapped. He sounded like he did while speaking of a bad guy after a long work day, so when he glanced towards Kaiya again, her heart sped up.

"That can be said for a lot of folks," Uncle Hugh countered. "You've already admitted that the Hamatos influence would be good for her."

"That came _before_ the death threat of a psychopath."

"Convincing her she's run-of-the-mill doesn't help. If anything, it's a bigger risk. Take today, for instance. She was called into the office for breaking school property, wasn't she?"

Biting the inside of her cheek, Kaiya dreaded her Daddy's answer.

"I was going to address that on the way home."

' _I knew it! He wants to yell at me. Tell me I shouldn't do those things…But he doesn't get it. I can't stop…_ '

"If you let her visit Michelangelo more often, maybe he could find a means to train her."

"Hugh—"

"I swear, sometimes you act so damn stubborn!"

Uncle Hugh's yell was dwindled by the crowd's screaming. It took a blink for Kaiya to realize the man and woman were standing in the sand, bowing deeply. They smiled and waved towards her row, but she had no will to cheer or jump. Daddy rose with Uncle Hugh alongside the other grown-ups and kids, leaving her to stare up from her seat with a pang in her chest.

"This is about Kaiya's safety!" Uncle Hugh cried over the whooping people. "You think Bishop won't notice if we ignore her capabilities? Hell, what if he starts watching your family and sees what she can do _because_ she hasn't practice using the skills?"

Kaiya didn't know what Uncle Hugh meant; she only caught the strain in his voice and expression. Their intensity filled her, rattled her, and she wanted Daddy to say something to make her feel better. He stayed silent.

"What if he takes interest regardless of what we do at work? He's into that kind of crap. He—he just might want her anyway. He could take her if he really wanted!"

' _Take me? Take me where? To a place like the cage…or table?_ '

An image flashed through the blonde's mind: wide black eyes gazing at her before a bright light. The chilling sensation of metal and hunger then crept in, and she forced her hands over her ears to block the loud noise that left her dizzy.

' _No…no, stop talking! I won't be taken again. I'm safe; Mister Leonardo said so._ '

Kaiya froze when the mutant's kind smile replaced the eyes. But it quickly melted into his pained look from when that fat doctor stuck needles in his arms.

' _I—I'm scared._ ' She could no longer hold back hot tears, and pushed harder against her ears. ' _Mister Leonardo…I—I want him. I want Mister Leonardo! Why can't he be here instead?_ '

Whatever else the grown-ups had to say no longer mattered. The only way Kaiya knew she would be able to breathe again would be alone, so she stood from her seat and pushed through the crowd.

* * *

Michelangelo—seen to others as Turtle Titan—balanced expertly on the metal bridge of an enclosed pavilion, set right off the Big Tent of Lacio Circus. Beside him, Starberry Girl balanced just as easily in their shaded hiding spot, rocking on her combat boots with a serious look about her masked-face. She glanced his way while idle chatter sounded below them, but instead of turning away, he smiled broadly.

"What's with you?" she whispered.

The hunched mutant shrugged, which pushed his carapace against the heavy canvas behind him. "Just glad you came to help. I know it's not as exciting as busting gangsters, but…"

The green-haired heroine gave an easy shrug, gazing back down at the monotonous hum of performers preparing for their acts. Mikey leaned forward as she watched an acrobatic duo walk through the split partition that separated the 'backstage' from the Big Tent then smirked.

"Bet we could put on a cooler show than them," she jested.

The hero mirrored her impish smile, leaning back with his fingers curled around the bridge for support. "Well, we _can_ be quite amazing. We might blind them with our awesomeness, though." To his amusement, Hoshi giggled into her hand, snorting.

' _Please tell me she snorts every time she laughs!_ '

"Dammit, Rose, get back out there!" A snappy tone cut through Michelangelo's thoughts.

His attention shifted to an adolescent figure covered from head to toe in shaggy, brown hair. It wasn't until Rose turned that he realized she was human and did wear clothes. Only, they were colored to match her 'fur', as if to hide them.

"I—I don't want to, Ring Master," the hairy girl called back.

The adult behind her—a thin yet intimidating man in a curled mustache—stepped forward, his thick voice deepening. "I did not save you from India for a free ride to America."

' _He's not a native. Would make sense of his Vampire accent. And this Rose girl…this is the girl Nia met._ '

"If she's Indian, why is her name American?" Hoshi asked under her breath. There was no chance for contemplation, as Rose whirled suddenly, her covered arms raised outwards.

"What saving was there?" she cried. "I only switched my miserable village life for this one! People still look at me like—"

"What did you expect?" the Ring Master cut off in a high hiss. He tensed his narrow jaw, sharp, sunken features severe under the shadow of his hat. "This is a circus. People come to see the strange, the sublime…the scary. Such a task has grown harder in recent years, so play your part."

"I—I don't want to be scary," Rose grumbled.

"Why, you little—" The Ring Master paused with his arm posed for a strike across the girl's face. He breathed heavy as she flinched away, like the occurrence happened often enough to prepare for. Yet the man lowered his arm instead, sighing. "I have given you a place to belong, with others like you. Outcasts. A place like this is the only one where you will _ever_ be accepted. So get back in that cage at the Sideshow, and be the Were Girl you are advertised as."

Rose didn't reply to the Ring Master, and since he was called by an announcer in the Big Tent, he had little chance to enforce his demand. When the partition fell into place, the Ring Master's accent ringing loud beyond it, Rose fell to her knees, trembling. Mikey sensed Hoshi stiffen beside him, and a glance later left him confusion.

' _She looks…uncomfortable._ '

"Rose, honey," someone new interjected.

Mikey reeled at the new figure that knelt by the hairy girl. It was a middle-aged woman. Well, women? Their belly dancer costumes clearly displayed the conjoined skin of their pale stomach, where their figures melded into one wide entity from there downwards. Above that split into two identical twins, their thin, blonde hair trailing over their three shoulders. They gave each other a sympathetic look before reaching towards Rose.

"Baby," the one on the right said. The middle arm matched the right arm's movement, which may've meant it belonged to the right twin. Then again, Mikey knew next to nothing about conjoined siblings.

"D—did I have to come back tonight, Ulla?" Rose remarked through a sniffle.

Ulla, the right twin, ran the hand from her middle arm down the girl's head like petting a shaggy puppy. "If you missed such a big show, restrictions would be worse."

"Besides," the left twin added, "you shouldn't give Ring Master Lacio any more reason to scrutinize. What have we told you?"

Slowly, Rose lifted her head. "Obey, and he won't give you a second thought."

"Exactly."

"But Unna!" Rose lifted to her knees so she could grip the twins' middle arm. "They were calling me a freak, some boys. Th—they were poking at me, wanting me to be…scary."

"I know it's hard," Unna replied, placing a hand on Rose's head.

"Do you think we want to be the Two-Headed Nightingale forever?" Ulla asked. She spoke with a smile, though grimness broke its brilliance.

"Trust Zebb," continued Unna. "He's made a promise. He won't forsake us, you, or Barry. So, please, be careful when you sneak out."

"Wait, you,"—Rose sat back—"you guys know about that?"

"Zebb worries," the twins answered in unison.

"Hey, Nightingale, your concert's about to start soon!"

"Coming!" the blondes cried over their shoulders. They spared Rose one final smile and a kiss then stood to exit the pavilions through another set of partitions.

Michelangelo's heart ached to talk to Rose. He considered it for the better part of a minute while she slowly stumbled to her feet. But then Splinter's voice entered his head, reminding him of the rat's plea to keep hidden. As much as he wanted to assure the girl she would be okay if she remained strong, he couldn't go against his sick father's will. If anything, he could give Splinter that respect.

"She went back," Starberry Girl noted in the new silence.

Mikey sent her a weak smile. "Guess this is something to report."

"Report? To who?"

"My sister."

Hoshi sent a pointed look. Sure, she wore a mask with tinted lenses—much like his—but he could sense the pensive Chi. "You recruited me to help your sister? Why would she need to know any of this?"

"It's for a report," Mikey spewed before he realized. "It's a, uh, paper on the social status of circus folks. Behind the scenes, so to speak."

"So…we're here for a school paper."

The heroine's blanch socked the hero in the gut. "Come on, you gotta admit it's intriguing. These guys could use some real help."

"That's beside the poi—"

"Hey, kid, what do you think you're doing here?" The male voice boomed like a bass, except nothing about it felt intimidating. Rather, it oozed parental concern, bringing Michelangelo's trained gaze between his large boots.

He could make out the top of a tall man's bald head, as well as several tribal-like tattoos over his bare, muscular body. But their misleading presence wasn't what shocked him; it was a little blonde's sniffle that did.

"I'm sorry," Kaiya replied brokenly.

"If someone else caught you back here, you'd be in a lot of trouble," the tattoo man added.

"I'm sorry…"

The man sighed. "What's your name?"

"K—Kaiya."

"And where are you parents, Kaiya?"

Head downturned, Kaiya glanced away.

"Look,"—tattoo man's voice softened despite its urgency—"you can't stay back here. You need to find your parents. I'd help you do that, but—"

"Zebb!"

"I know Rocko; I'll be right there!"

The disembodied voice scoffed as Zebb sent Kaiya a smile. He opened his mouth, maybe to explain where she could go for safety, but Mikey couldn't take waiting any longer. He landed beside the duo then leaned backwards when Zebb whipped a powerful arm sideways in response.

"Woah, Dude!" the hero cried. "I'm here to help."

"What help can come from the"—Zebb paused for a quick glance up with his deep set eyes—"the—were you spying on us?"

"That is another matter entirely," answered Mikey, cheeky.

"Uncle Mi—"

Forcing a laugh, the mutant clamped a hand over Kaiya's mouth before she could finish his name, saying, "I'll help her get back to her parents."

Zebb quirked a thick brow. "This coming from the guy who dropped from the ceiling."

"I'm trust-worthy. Honest, I'm a hero!"

The tattooed man clearly wanted to refute Michelangelo's insistence. However, another call had him turning his head with a soft curse. He glanced first at Kaiya (who Mikey still kept quiet) and then the mutant, staring intently. Mikey was experienced enough to know a silent threat when given one, so he nodded, hoping his honesty shined. With a begrudged step back, Zebb sighed then turned without another word.

When the man stepped out of sight, Mikey leaned towards Kaiya, ensuring his carapace blocked his whisper from Hoshi's view. "Call me Turtle Titan, Kaiya. I have someone here who doesn't know my _identity_."

Thankfully, Kaiya's love of comics meant she already held a deep-root respect for a hero's biggest secret, so the blonde nodded in an instant, despite her cocked head.

"Good," Mikey said, louder while straightening up. "Now, Kaiya was it?"

The blonde nodded again.

"Where was the last time you saw your parents?" It was really hard not to hug the girl when her expression dropped. The moment of relief she showed with a smile lasted a second, and it was buried further once Starberry Girl landed beside them.

"How are we supposed to help if you won't tell us?" she questioned.

"Easy, Hoshi," Mikey said towards her huff. She backed off with a little pout, though the mutant sensed the uneasiness he noticed while Rose was crying. "Hey, Kaiya, why would you run from your Mommy and Daddy?"

"He doesn't like me being different." To Hoshi, the girl's cryptic message seemed vague, which is probably why she shifted in confusion at Mikey's side. The nunchaku master knew the blonde was only eight, so he let it pass that she specified her father instead of both her parents.

"It's great being different."

"He doesn't think so. He thinks I'll be taken again."

Michelangelo froze. ' _She must've had a really bad fight with Blaine. I want to ask more, but…_ ' He sent the green-haired heroine a sidelong glance. ' _This isn't the right company or the place. I'll just call Blaine later._ '

"Well, in case you didn't hear,"—Mikey started in a playful manner—"there are heroes in this city who would _never_ allow you to be taken. _Ever_. Understand?" He waited for her to grip the hand he placed on her shoulder, and when her lower lip trembled, he braced himself for the hug that followed.

"I wish Mister Leonardo were here," she grumbled into his covered plastron.

He wanted nothing more than to join her shuddering breath. Yet he couldn't. He needed to remain professional, so the pit in his stomach went ignored as he spoke softly. "Come on; let's find a place where we can call your parents."

Reluctantly, Kaiya pulled away. Her puffy, amber eyes glossed over him then fell to the dirt ground as she rounded his figure. She would wait outside, he knew. But he hesitated before following because her emotion hurt. Thinking about Leo hurt…

"You're really good with kids, aren't ya, Figo?" Hoshi asked.

He met her casual stare with a lopsided smile then turned towards the exit. "W—well, I guess. Kinda."

"Women find that attractive, ya know?" she remarked just as casual.

Good thing the heroine took the lead out the door; Mikey's blush heated his face fiercely. And it wouldn't leave until he slapped himself a few times.

* * *

 **A/N:** Next on _A Tale of Heroes_ , "Jump"! Hugh deals with mounting stress in his work and personal life. Meanwhile, Splinter and Melody have a little chat over the rat's deteriorating health.


	14. Jump

**A/N:** When I finally finish writing all the chapters, I can post more often. Boo brain blocks. XP

 _D_ , baby, you're back! *bro fist* That's what we all wish. Look out for " _The Distance_ " in the future to see just that. :D

 _WOLF_ , ROFL. Kaiya will DEFINITELY be featured more in this story. She's started to become a regular main, like Hugh. As for Mikey and Hoshi...prepare for ups and downs. *wiggles brow*

 _Sciencegal_ , I always feel a jab when Leo's mentioned. Right in the gut. :( Now I'm just imagining Blaine and Gavin sitting in a corner together...XD

 _Feather_ , here's a box of tissues. You'll need them for some later chapters. *hands over* _

* * *

 **Chapter 14:** **Jump**

Hugh already felt as if he were falling apart at the seams because of stress. So—honestly?—he had little will to stop Officer Samuel Renald from stealing one of the two hamburgers off his full tray. The African-American simply blinked then reminded himself he wasn't hungry enough for lunch anyway.

"Always a pleasure getting food from you guys," Samuel noted. He flashed a grin that almost reached the same length as his wide-set eyes.

Hugh blanched as the shorter male followed him from the restaurant's register counter, mumbling, "Extortionist."

"Beats the alternative, right?" After taking a bite from the fresh burger, Samuel placed it on his own tray then rubbed the back of his hand against his facial scruff like it suddenly itched.

"Seems you've been growing your hair out since winter," Hugh teased. "What a look."

"My girl likes it," Samuel retorted, raising a hand to touch the snake-like pile of blonde waves that fell around his head to his neck.

"Guess she's into Medusa."

"Hey, hey. You don't get to make cracks at me, remember?"

Somehow, Hugh couldn't find seriousness in the blonde's glare and slowed before reaching a booth in the middle of the restaurant, where Damien Hanson awaited him. "If you were serious about ratting us out," the detective started, low in the presence of so many other officers, "you would hold more than food over our heads."

Samuel countered Hugh's frown by grinning ambiguously, shrugging in his uniform. "What else could I get from you broke lot? Besides,"—the grin turned bitter—"it's sort of fun seeing Bishop unable to make the move he wants."

Hugh would've laughed at the idea—if it weren't for the agent's threat ringing in his ears like nails against a chalkboard. "Be careful, Samuel. True as that may be, Bishop isn't the kind of man to stay cornered."

"Does this concern have anything to do with the trip he made to your precinct yesterday?"

"Just take care in how you act. I should be held accountable for my own actions, but…"

"Well," noted Samuel, stoic, "if all your associates need to be careful, then you better keep a good eye on those punks."

"I really wish everyone would stop giving them such a hard time," Hugh spat. He eyed the shorter officer critically as the blonde turned towards another part of the restaurant, to join co-workers from his division.

"You're the one who took PDs under your wing," Samuel said over his shoulder. "Naturally, they won't be very popular."

"You'd think policemen would have better character than to rag on kids, though," Hugh muttered to the security's back. With a cut-off sigh, he rounded the partition keeping him mostly hidden from the young man seated in the booth on its other side, then slid into a bench opposing him.

"What was that about?" Damien questioned, a tad uneasy.

"Nothing," Hugh answered while separating the food on the tray.

"Meaning: it has something to do with me."

"Don't worry about it. Now, have you—?" Hugh paused when he noticed the empty spot beside the modestly-dressed young man. "Is Kenneth not back yet?"

"Nope." Damien eyed Hugh's lack of a main course, yet let the matter slide. Probably because it happened so often. "He was breathing pretty hard. Took his meds with him."

"You haven't checked on him?"

"Once, but he wanted to be left alone."

Hugh sighed, cupping a long hand around his paper cup as Damien bit then chewed the burger. "Still feels like Hun's gunna jump him from the shadows."

"I'm sure the anxiety's more than that," the younger male said, swallowing. "When you're a gangster, you're the predator. You make the schemes, the moves. Taken out of that, you're left vulnerable."

"Is that how you feel?"

"Can't help it. I grew up a gangster, so I ain't exactly cozy around a bunch of Big Blues."

"I'm not that big," chimed Hugh with a pat against his covered stomach. He flashed a lopsided grin, yet Damien's dark eyes traveling around the popular police lunch spot killed it. "Look, Damien," he said while leaning forward, "you and Ken are perfectly safe. The police won't do anything major."

Damien's gaze lowering to his partly-eaten food. "They're not the full concern."

"Hun then? What reason would he have to go out of his way to kill you two?"

"You don't know Hun…"

The pain of the younger male's whisper neared fear. For a moment, Hugh wondered if Damien would suffer a panic attack like his rash-riddled friend, yet thought better after a deep inhale. "If it's so dangerous, why would you agree to join the police then?"

The ex-gangster paused, running a broad hand so far up the sleeve of his button up shirt that it reached his Purple Dragon tattoo. "Guess the police would be the only job where my life experience would come in handy."

"And Jezebel's insistence had nothing to do with it."

Damien glanced at Hugh—a sharp action.

"How's she doing, by the way?"

"How do you think?" Damien answered, hollow. His hand lowered from his bicep to his burger, but it remained still, like his appetite was lost. "She's failing school. She can hardly concentrate. And it's all because of Miriam."

Hugh frowned, clenching his drink. "Do you think it was wrong of Jez to tell Miriam the truth?"

"You know she wishes she hadn't. The guilt was eating her, but now she has to deal with a sister in an asylum. You know Miriam won't even see her anymore?"

Hugh couldn't stop his eyebrows from rising.

"That's right. Claims her whole family's dead. _She's_ dead. I—I don't think the anti-psychotics are helping."

"I," the detective spoke carefully, "I'm sorry. Wish there was some way I could help."

"Yeah, because you already don't have enough on your plate." Damien gestured to Hugh's fries, although the man's stolen burger wasn't the point. The younger male smirked then glanced across the restaurant towards another booth. "You haven't been talking to Williams."

"That's what happens when disagreements are had. Don't worry, baby, mommy and daddy will be back to talking once mommy realizes how hard-headed she's being."

"Funny," Damien shot back dryly. "Seriously, I heard you had a pretty bad fight. And Kaiya ran off because of it."

"And where, pre tell, did you gather such information?"

The younger male sent a sheepish smile, grimness now lost. "Possibly your wife?"

"What were you doing with my wife?" Despite how he hid his mild amusement, Hugh really was curious.

"I was looking for you this morning, but you weren't home."

"So you thought you'd get comfortable with _my_ Rina?"

"Get real. She offered me breakfast and…" Damien glanced sideways.

"Well, another woman's influence can be good for you. You never really had a mother." Hugh smiled when the ex-gangster flinched. "Fine, you're excused. And if you want, you can come over for breakfast more often."

"Thanks, Hugh," Damien whispered into his straw.

"Can I break up this warm father-son bonding?"

Blaine's voice was more surprising than the glare Hugh was met with. The detective expected an edge, yet the note of persistence and unease felt unnatural for the blonde's possible resignation. Or, what should be resignation. Blinking, Hugh glanced passed his best friend at the end of his booth towards the company Blaine had been eating with then frowned.

"Why's Kyle with Noah and Donna?" the African-American questioned.

"That's what we need to discuss," Blaine answered, eyeing Damien. He took a moment to sigh, and once he realized Damien wasn't going anywhere, he added, "Kyle got accepted into the EPF. And he wants to work as a mole for us."

* * *

When did routine exercises lose their calming effect? Splinter used to look forward to them. Now, he dreaded them. And hiding how painful they were from Melody's observant gaze was a hard feat.

"How is your pain tolerance when I press this joint?" the cyborg questioned while bending the wizened rat's wrist.

It burned immediately, so every calculated response Splinter made until then was rendered pointless with one solid hiss. He drew back his arm out of instinct before shifting his kneeling form on the dojo's tatami mats.

Melody's frown grew stern. "If you cannot bend—"

"I can use my joints well enough, Melody-san," the master retorted with a quick whip of his tail. Melody remained unblinking at its crisp crack, yet it had never been his intent to intimidate her. So he sighed. "Forgive me, Melody-san."

"If I could not handle moody patients, I would not have taken on this role," replied the half-redhead listlessly. Still, she eyed the wrist he rubbed. "What was the rate?"

Splinter knew better than to asked what she meant. "Higher than yesterday's."

"And how has your breathing been?"

The mutant hesitated, gripping his wrist tighter. "Acceptable."

"Then you would not mind if I listened to your chest."

' _What a sly girl._ '

Splinter would commend her technique—taking him to the dojo instead of the Lab had been misleading—however, he loathed the idea of being tricked. When the cyborg leaned forward on her knees, he frowned, and as her metallic hand slipped into the hem of his kimono, he resisted the urge to push her away. The cool metal between the short hairs of his fur sent a shiver down his spine, straightening him for the deep breath Melody's stare instructed he take.

He inhaled then held still while the pressure against his chest increased. At Melody's slight nod, he released the air slowly, raggedly. Whatever sensors she claimed were on her hand gave her the reading she may have been expecting, so she sat back on her robotic feet as if unimpressed with a child's attempt to lie.

"There is partial obstruction in your lungs," she stated, matter-of-fact.

"It is a cold," Splinter insisted.

"Which can escalate to something worse."

"I am taking every possible precautionary measure."

"Except absolute bed rest."

The rat shook his head. "It will pass, Melody-san."

She was unconvinced: so said her subtle glare.

"You worry like Leonardo," Splinter noted with a smile. "I cannot stand his insistence, either—though I know he means well. Like you."

"Leonardo is not your doctor."

"Well, as a patient, I am exercising my right to ignore part of my doctor's scheduled rest."

The cyborg twitched. "A doctor's order trumps what a patient wants."

"Then as patriarch of this clan, I choose not to remain in bed."

"You should be resting!" A fierce glare contorted Melody's half-robotic face in an instant, all previous signs of impassiveness lost to her sudden frustration.

"I cannot," countered Splinter while eyeing her clenched fists. "I do very little as it is and to do less would leave me purposeless. Forgive me, I am aware you want me as healthy as possible, but I simply cannot stay confined to my futon for the time you require."

"But you could—"

The mutant raised a paw, his sleeve trailing behind the fast (and painful) act. "I do not leave the Lair, Melody-san. I do not expose myself to the elements nor fight. I exercise in the morning then again at night. You have agreed that stretching my joints is better than watching television all day…although I have been missing a few of my shows."

"This matter is not humorous," Melody snapped—a cold, controlled action. Underlying rage seeped through her Chi, however, like an invisible torrent that turned Splinter somber under its magnitude. Thus, he squared his shoulders when her robotic eye brightened. "What you are experiencing is serious. Everything you feel must be reported."

"I am not fond of such thorough prodding," Splinter countered, even like his gaze.

"Given that the alternative is your life, I'd think you'd be more receptive."

"Melody-san"—the master raised his snout towards the young woman's glare and inhaled—"believe it or not, I understand. Worrying is a battle I face every day. However, worry will not heal me. While I am conscientious of my limits, of my state of being, I refuse to stop living. I trust you and Donatello will fight hard for me…a—and if my time does near—"

"It won't." The cyborg shook her head, maybe harder than intended because of her sudden emotional surge. She brushed aside half-blonde-half-auburn locks from her face with a shaky hand then added, "Not yet, anyway, so don't even mention it."

"It would be a shame, would it not? We just met, after all."

Melody scowled at Splinter's smile. "How can you and Donatello make light of things?"

"You think I take cancer lightly?"

"No. However, neither of you are giving me the consideration I deserve."

"How so?"

"For starters," the cyborg grew listless once more, "your son refuses to comprise a Chemo treatment like he said he would."

"I have spoken with him of that," Splinter muttered.

"Did he insist on Recro-12?"

"Not quite. But he was adamant about waiting."

"Of course. The moment we surmised the pros of a functional Recro-12 serum, Don has been insistent on perfecting it. I understand his reason for avoiding Chemo, and I know I started this obsession by studying it first; however…"

Careful, Splinter outstretched his aching paw to touch Melody's protected knee, speaking gently yet assuredly, "His experience with Recro-12 has changed his option, has it not?"

A slight hesitance proved the master's words, more so than the cyborg's glance aside.

"He tells me he feels a sense of strength from it, however small," Splinter continued.

"Considering Kaiya's capacities, what he feels is a fraction of Recro-12's potential. He has grown fond of the slight edge, actually."

"But that is not why he clings to it."

Melody released a bitter sigh. "Despite its grim history, if we perfected it, we could not only heal you, but strengthen you. You would gain years, and how can I fault him for wanting that future instead of one where your body is shocked with poisons?"

"Unfortunately, we are all aware that I cannot wait around much longer…"

"How strange is it that you can admit such a thing, yet complain about my diagnosis?"

Splinter chuckled at the cyborg's light pout, though she obviously found no humor in the situation. "Do what you must, Melody-san. Just do not tell me I cannot leave bed."

"If I do, will you admit you are sick?"

"Do not jump to conclusions; it is hardly something to be concerned about. Focus your attention on the cancer."

Clearly, Melody was not convinced. Fortunately, she let the matter die and reached for the mutant's arm, saying, "Continue your exercises."

* * *

 **A/N:** Hugh's little army is growing. Hope you all don't mind me using Damien more. Ever since " _Finding Balance_ ", he's had this conflicting struggle with who he wants to be and who he think he has to be. I can't help following through with that struggle, especially considering his connection to the Summers family. Webs, man.

I also need to say Splinter and Mel scenes are great to write. In general, Splinter talking with any of his kids is fun to write. Why don't people use Splinter more often? He's awesome. XD

Next chapter, _Nightwatcher_. Ever wonder how Raph and Starberry Girl would interact? Well, this chapter will let ya know! Reviews please? ;D


	15. Nightwatcher

**A/N:** It feels so weird having to release this book so slowly, as compared to the others. It's been a problem child from the start. LOL. Hopefully, I can update more often soon. Just 13 more chapters left to write. Then I can update every day or every other day. Yeah!

 _WOLF_ : Concerned is a great word for it. After all, she IS. She just shows it in a controlling way. And by the end of next chapter, you'll see how deeply Splinter's sickness affects her. ;)

 _Sciencegal_ : Least someone likes Damien. Glad you found it funny. :D Meanwhile, Splinter love for everyone!

 _D_ : Bishop is the WORST. It's why I enjoy writing him as the over-aching villain in this series. As for exercise thing; Mel knows that. That's why Splinter does exercises in the morning and evening. She was just against him moving TOO much. Can't deny that is her concern talking, though. LOL

* * *

 **Chapter 15:** **Nightwatcher**

Melody heard Donatello enter Splinter's bedroom, yet didn't bother facing him since his pointed look was already prominent. Instead, she inhaled the air's subtle incense as her husband knelt beside her and kept calm when he spoke flatly.

"You drugged my father."

The cyborg's vision flickered his way then returned to the scraggly mutant lying beneath a thick blanket called a kakebuton.

"Melody—"

"He will wake in half an hour," Melody interjected, finding offence in the Chūnin's exasperation.

There was a long sigh that trailed into a groan. "I'm not going ask how you did this, but I will ask _why_?"

"He puts on a mask, Donny. In order to hear how he truly breathes, I…altered his afternoon tea."

"Friday's surprise check-up wasn't good enough?"

"Fatigue has set in over the weekend. He would not allow me to listen to his lungs again so soon."

"Pushed you away?"

"Twice…"

Donatello shifted closer when Melody whispered, his bare leg lining up with her covered one. Her gaze lingered on their different sizes before movement from his hand lured her eyes to where he held her unfeeling hand. She frowned at the thought of not realizing he had taken it—only imagining how nice his pebbly skin felt—then tensed her square jaw.

"He won't be happy when he wakes up," Don remarked, low.

"My duty is to care for him," the cyborg answered in a dull tone. She kept a firm frown until her husband stifled a laugh against her shoulder guard.

"Sometimes, it's crazy how you sound like Leo," he grumbled against the metal.

His lips' vibration wasn't as unsettling as his words, yet Mel shivered all the same, clenching her teeth. "Listen to him breathe, Damn Mechanic. Just…listen."

Thankfully, the purple-masked mutant did what she pleaded. After releasing his wife, he leaned towards his father, who slept soundly on his back. A soft crackle-like wheeze broke through the new silence—a distressing action from the old master's parted snout. It left the impression of a weakened child, and Don placed a gentle hand over Splinter's kakebuton as if the physical rise and fall of his chest was a tether to reality.

"It's getting louder," he mumbled, perhaps more to himself than Mel.

"You did not notice before because he is skilled at hiding it," countered Melody. "He is taking vitamins and medicines; however, bronchial infections cannot be subdued with over-the-counter cold remedies. Nor tea. They need antibiotics."

"He hasn't been coughing much, though. I had hoped…"

"Licorice Tea. Nia bought it at a specialty store for him weeks ago."

"That supposedly helps with upper-respiratory issues, doesn't it?"

"It can, though its side-effects give rise to other problems. He has been using it to hide his non-cancer symptoms."

"I don't understand." Donatello glanced over his muscular shoulder at Mel while his hand remained on his father. "If his cold is worsening, why wouldn't he say something?"

"You would know that answer better than I," answered the lithe cyborg. She forced her eyes from her husband's worried face, though Splinter's sleeping figure didn't ease the knot in her stomach either. "We are struggling for answers for the cancer. Perhaps he feels an additional sickness would be too much."

"April's figuring out connections." Don spoke like Mel was Splinter and his annoyed hurt cut deep with guilt.

"Then maybe waiting for her is not what we should be doing."

"What do you mean?"

Melody raised her vision so it settled on Donatello like an anchor. He knew what she was about to suggest, hence she cut off his protest by speaking sternly, "It would be fine, Damn Mechanic. I know who to contact, and they would be ready—"

"No."

"Don—"

"I said _no_." Rare was Donatello's dark glare, so when he flashed it, Mel's strong jaw hung slack. "I'll talk with April and Gavin sometime today. We'll figure out a solution, but the Black Market…it'll have to be an utter last resort."

"The time is coming, Donatello," said the young woman crossly.

"But not yet. _Please_." Gathering what little face he had left, Don sat back to grip Melody's hands with both of his, staring into her eyes while his thumb fiddled with her marriage bracelet. "Give them a chance."

"They've had weeks."

"Chemo is a tricky request. Antibiotics will be easier."

"I doubt it."

"Mel"—the purple-masked mutant cringed—"we'll figure this out. I—I know it's hard because of what happened with your mother. But you've turned over a new leaf, which means ties to things like the Black Market should stay severed…"

Melody refused a reply; partly because she hadn't been convinced and partly because she knew he would make her promise to forget the tie altogether if she persisted. Thus, quiet, she let her husband kiss her hot forehead, gaze set on how tightly he gripped her hands. When he stood, she looked up with a careful expression that wouldn't betray what she truly thought, so he sent a smile in ignorance, saying,

"I'll go call now. Make sure he wakes easily." Melody nodded, and Donatello's grin turned somber at her quietness. "I love you, you know?" he asked gently.

Mel swallowed thickly under her husband's brown eyes. "I know." A passing of silence cocked Don's head, leading the cyborg to add, "I love you too."

Apparently satisfied with the exchange, Donny headed for the bedroom's shoji screen door. The moment he exited, Melody gave into her scowl, and studied Splinter as he moaned lowly beneath the covers.

' _Claim what he will, Splinter has endured almost four months of pre-treatment therapy. Without any treatment follow-up. This is it; we no longer have time to deal with Recro-12 like I thought would be the answer._

' _Sorry, Damn Mechanic…we must work with something that will produce results for once. Even if I must trek through so-called Nightwatcher territory to arrange a meeting…_ '

The idea was hardly alarming as Melody reached for her Shell Cell.

* * *

Raphael smirked behind his Nightwatcher helmet; seeing yet another Forty-Four Street kid bite the dust never grew old, and he chuckled as the villain squealed like a little girl against the asphalt behind a semi-secluded shop. Really; could they sound any less intimidating?

"Ta think, ya'd go this far for a backwater tobacco store," the hero commented while readying his Manriki-gusari for another round.

"It ain't the store, punk," said one crew member as his scarecrow form rose from all fours.

"It's the principle," another added, a female. Her voice rang with a pleasant lull, unlike her four male counterparts, yet the domineering spark in her dark eyes outmatched theirs.

"It don't represent much," Raph countered, chain now swinging.

"Like you'd understand." Despite the bandana she wore over the lower half of her face, the hothead could tell her lips were downturned with disgust. He was good at sensing such things.

"Well cry me a river, cowgirl. Maybe some time behind bars will give ya the therapy ya need."

That said, Raphael's powerful arm sprung into action. The Manriki's chain shot forward to wrap its weighted end around Scarecrow's slender ankle. He jerked its length sideways once secure, denting one of the few cars in the half-lit parking lot with the gangster's body. Scarecrow groaned and while he slumped, dazed, against the Monte Carlo's front wheel, Raphael retracted the loosened chain expertly.

His preparation for the second body barreling towards him was rendered mute in a second. A bright flash of pink and black filled his vision just after a weight settled on his shielded carapace. He growled at the thin figure that flipped off him like a hurdle then landed behind Bandana Girl, back to back. The gangster froze with alarm by the time the newcomer spun a long staff, jabbing it behind, towards her neck.

So Raph snarled as Bandana Girl writhed then dropped under the staff's crackle. "What the hell are _ya_ doin' here, Pink?"

"Looked like you were having fun," the green-haired heroine returned with a devious smile. "Thought I'd join you."

"Sorry; this party's for one."

"Guess I'm crashing it then."

Starberry Girl gave no chance for retaliation. She headed for the remaining crew members who had recovered from Raphael's first assault, and readied her staff. Was he supposed to stand for such meddling?

Hell no.

Frustration animated the mutant like a wildfire, giving new life to his Manriki when he steadied himself. Its solid ends quickly captured the skinny heroine above her pleated mini skirt, so Raph just as quickly whipped her aside. He didn't care if his brute force bruised the little lady, and the fact that she recovered from his assault by twisting in mid-air then landing on the roof of another car left his jaw clenched.

' _What is she, a monkey?_ ' he thought as she slipped through the slack chain.

"Look," the female started with an edge of embitterment below her sweetness, "I'd rather not hurt you. I have a friend who might be mad at me if I did."

"Ya hurt _me_?" Raphael scoffed.

"You shouldn't aggravate a power you know nothing about."

"Whatever." Posing again, the hero glared at Starberry Girl on the car roof. "I make a livin' outta aggravatin' things."

"So says my friend."

"Well, I'll have ta _talk_ with yer friend. Right after this!"

The Manriki shot forward again. Only this time, it didn't meet its mark. Rather than capturing the heroine's thin arm, it caught her staff. And the green-haired female twisted her head away from the weighted end that twirled up it. With a maddening smirk, she spun so the chain slipped off the staff's shaft then avoided the next assault Raphael made with the Manriki's other end.

Her boots thumped on the asphalt, but she faltered when Raphael sought the staff on purpose. He yanked the weapon from her gloves so it slid beneath the car beside her and abandoned the Mankiri altogether when he dashed forward. The first swipe of his fist was meant to test her reflexes. They were good, considering it missed her then took out the car's side view mirror; however, he'd seen faster response times, so the next fist landed on her side.

"Cafone!" she hissed with strange accentuation. A curiousness of how hard she could hit his helmet left Raph still, yet her fist never arrived like promised. It was a distraction while she dropped to roll between his spread legs.

He whirled to find her by the car, reaching below it for her staff. "Can't ya stick ta yer own territory?" he bellowed as she shifted on her knee pads.

"What do you have against teamwork, Defi'?" she countered. Avoiding his grasp, she sneered below the black mask hiding her eyes then gestured towards the Monte Carlo not far away. "Look where it led you."

A glance upwards revealed an empty parking lot, free of any gangsters. It took all of Raphael's will not to outright scream and dent another car, but he hadn't been at fault. And he knew just who to point an accusing finger at. "Dammit, Pink, ya should'a minded yer own business!"

"Yeah, because _that's_ where the problem started."

"I had things handled."

"Not the point."

"There was a point ta this?"

The green-haired heroine shrugged, wringing her staff so that it somehow retracted into a smaller state. Then, she placed it on her back. ' _How the hell does that thing stay?_ '

"Look, Pink—"

"Starberry Girl."

The mutant rolled his eyes at how soft the heroine looked, even while perturbed. "Whatever. We've talked about this. Why the sudden interest in wantin' ta be partners?"

"Whoa there, Casanova." The heroine held up her hands as if genuinely sickened. "Firstly, there's no partnership. I already have a partner, and he's a lot more fun than you. Second, it's recently come to my attention that the heroes of New York should work closer together, before matters get out of hand."

"Things are already out of hand," Raph grumbled. He wasn't sure if his helmet hindered the comment, but whether she heard or not, Starberry Girl huffed.

"If you want honesty, I think the EPF are preparing for a bigger move. And someone needs to stand against them."

"Or is it that yer hopin' they'll move? An' yer little trips ta their Hubs are seein' ta it."

"You think I'm the one bombing Hubs, Defi'?" She gawked for all of two seconds before placing her arms akimbo. "Ask your friend, Turtle Titan. He knows for a fact I'm not."

"Speakin' 'a my _friend_ ," Raph noted darkly, "what's yer business wit' him?"

"Nothing more than a mutual partnership," the heroine answered as simple as her hand ran through her green ponytail.

"Why him?"

"Because he has talent. He's funny. And, ya know,"—Starberry shrugged one shoulder, fingering her bow—"he's good with kids."

Raphael sent a blank stare. "What the hell do kids have ta do wit' anything?"

"Relax. TT's in good hands; I'll protect him."

"I swear if ya hurt him—"

"My goodness, are you sure he's _just_ a friend?"

The sass of the human's words curled Raph's fingers into fists, and he spoke lower than usual, "He's one 'a my best friends. So if ya betray him, I'll be lookin' for blood."

Starberry must've sensed his truth; the playful smile across her thin lips fell and her high-pitched voice lowered as well. "I don't know what kind of impression you have of me, but I'm a hero, like you. Hearing about the Phantoms in this city made me feel safe when I moved, and once reports of them ceased, I couldn't sit back. I want to make a difference. To do that, I'll need help…"

Guess her explanation seemed sound. However, Raphael wasn't ready to accept her into the fold. He eyed her warily as she sighed then scratched the back of her neck above her pink sailor collar.

"You _are_ like a walnut, aren't you?" she asked. The mutant needn't wonder where the analogy came from; he could vision Michelangelo's cheesy smile vividly. "As you say: whatever. I meant to tell you I think the heroes in New York should unite, and I did just that."

"Yeah, thanks for the invite, Sailor Takeover," retorted Raph, dry.

The female flashed a frown. "Use as much time as you want, Defi'. If your hesitance means more time alone in TT's company, I prefer it."

"Don't get cozy," the hero spat towards Starberry's backside.

"It may be a little too late," she countered while jumping on the Monte Carlo, smirking. "We've already exchanged numbers."

If Raphael had been carrying his sais, he would've chucked them at the young woman who retreated over the lot's chain link fence with the stealth of a cat. Instead, he stomped a foot against the paved ground and cursed the figure retreating across the street.

' _I swear; as soon as I'm done sweepin' my territory, imma kill Mikey._ '

* * *

Hun found Pierce's presence less tolerable than Switchblade's. While the pale blonde cyborg knew his boundaries, the lean African-American ignored his. And his actions often tested the Purple Dragon leader's patience, which was about as gracious as his mentor's had been.

Then again, there was no point mentioning dead prodigies.

Hun sneered at the knife-handed cyborg in his office, eyes set on how casual his smirk was.

"A hidden PD made the call: Skunk the Third," Pierce said as he flicked his long fingers like scissors. "The store's still ours. I mean, Hamlin and her groupies were stopped by the Nightwatcher, but they made the move."

"What are you asking?" Hun snarled behind his desk. He meant for his booming voice to cease Pierce's infernal tick, so when the cyborg continued absentmindedly, the blonde's glare darkened until he stood still.

"Isn't it about time we launched a stronger assault against the Street Crew?" Pierce asked, sour.

"I have a plan."

"I know. But Switch and I can do more than plant evidence."

"You will do just that until _I_ deem otherwise!" Hun slammed his massive fist down then stood from his chair. A quick step placed him at his desk's side, yet he didn't approach the cyborg, who stood shorter than him and flinched. "Our priority is gaining back Hunt and possibly Little Spice," he said in a fierce undertone. "We have to play our cards carefully with the EPF. The Street Crew can be dealt with at any time. If you're so antsy for more, track Scales and Bones."

"That'd be easier if they weren't sticking close to cops," grumbled Pierce while whipping thin cornrows over his shoulder. "At the rate Spice and Hunt were taken down, I'd be joining them if I made a move."

"Guess you'll wait then," Hun shot back, nearly amused. He scoffed then smirked when the younger male glowered. "I said track them. I never mentioned retrieving them. So you'd better be careful where you tread, if you want to stay in my employment. Meanwhile, I have another run for you to make."

"Already?"

"This has nothing to do with the Hubs. We have no new evidence."

"Then what am I doing?"

"Following a lead." At Pierce's quirked brow, Hun folded his muscular arms. "I have grounds to believe one of our members is working with a Street kid for a side operation."

In seconds, the smirk returned to the cyborg and intrigue lit his voice, "A secret collaboration?"

The leader nodded—a firm, absolute action. "I want you to hunt the member using him for Black Market buys. And bring him to me."

* * *

 **A/N:** Raph and Hoshi - two hotheads collide! That's their relationship in a nutshell. Anyways, next chapter is a two-parter called "Flare". In it, Mel and Raph cross paths in an explosive way. Stay tuned, and don't forget to review! ;)


	16. Flare (Part 1)

**A/N:** When you're working on a story so long, you start to hate it...I don't like being at such a point. Still near the end, but I ain't quite sure when I'll get there.

* * *

 **Chapter 16:** **Flare (Part 1)**

The end of Raphael's patrol as Nightwatcher was near and, surprisingly, he had held back from contacting Michelangelo. The doofus had stayed home because Nia wanted him for an art project, so he figured a face-to-face talk would fare better than a distracted phone call. Besides, Raph could use the delay to consider what names he was going to throw at the idiot who gave away his phone number.

' _I would say I can't believe it, except I can,_ ' he thought while kicking up rocks on a warehouse roof. The Chūnin had left the industrial sector for last since activity was least likely in it, and thus didn't bother with quietness when he cursed, taking a seat on the warehouse's corroded surface. ' _He obviously likes her, but he outta be careful. She could be trickin' him!_ '

Did the youngest brother consider that?

No. He never did. It was always up to Raphael and Leonardo to point out such matters, and the hothead couldn't deny the burden on his shoulders whenever he thought of his temporary role as clan head.

' _It feels weirder than when I had wanted the role years ago. It's certainly lost its charm. The stress 'a makin' sure everyone's safe gives me heartburn, an' no one even acts like I'm in charge. Guess when it comes ta it…I'm still second best._ '

Clank!

Raphael jumped when a clap echoed over the city's background noise. He crouched along the roof's ledge for a clear scan around the yellow-lit area, his actions careful. He swore a shape slithered along the chain fence that prevented people from walking over the dilapidated concrete patio into the river. It was fleeting, though—like a ghost with just enough matter to rattle a few trash cans. And by the time his eyes followed its form to the rotting subway cars against the building's north-east corner, it vanished.

' _Couldn't be Foot,_ ' the hero thought while approaching the corner. ' _Or human, really. It was too big. Maybe an animal? But what kinda animal is that size in New York? Let alone that graceful…_ '

Following probably wouldn't be the best idea, but since when has a bad idea ever stopped Hamato Raphael?

Cracking his neck, Raph conquered the ledge's remainder in a sprint. The free feeling of flight ended all too soon when he landed on a lower-tired roof—a structure which protruded like a subtle tower from the face of an even lower roof that created an 'L' against the tallest warehouse.

Raph was unfazed by the impact his knees endured then twisted his feet sideways, preparing for another jump. However, he paused when muffled voices sounded. They carried from two-stories below, so under the cover of a new moon and a few low-arranged lights, Raphael waited for the owners.

Two stocky figures rounded the only subway car in sight, one of which ran a hand along its thick layer of graffiti like admiring a trophy. A third figure trailed after them, moving uniformly while a black cloak gave the impression of an apparition. Something about the way they moved rung as familiar to the mutant. He couldn't place it until the cloaked-figure rebuked the other two, tough. Only then did Raph's heart skip a beat.

' _What the hell is Gray doin' wit' these guys?_ '

Instinct urged Raph to barrel down on the trio before they entered the warehouse's loading door. By the time he rose to a knee, however, the group had disappeared, leaving the hero with no other option. He scaled over the tower's front rim then released his fingers when his weight swung him inside a broken window below it. He met a dusty catwalk without a sound then ascended the metal staircase at its end so he could mount the thick rafters.

"I am not here to endure your gossip, Kanker," Melody's distinctive voice noted.

Despite its low level, it resonated through the open, two-story space like a car bass as Raph situated himself along a rafter's bridge. Sure footing and a slight lean gave him perfect leverage beside the crown of a pillar, and he peered beyond one of the many broken hanging lamps to what would've been an intersection between cargo shelves—if they hadn't been pushed aside.

"No contact in over a year," Kanker countered, tan features settled in a gruesome smile. "Ya make a tricky demand, have us wait half an hour past our meet time, and _that's_ the greeting we get? Unreal."

A harsh glare from a prepared halogen floor lamp revealed purple skin along his chubby face, which indicated a Purple Dragon mark. The hero expected Kanker's counterpart to be of the same affiliation. Yet when the second man—a pale figure—reached for a metal briefcase settled on an old bar stool, the elegant '44' tattoo on his inner wrist proved otherwise.

"How do we even know you're good for your part anymore?" Forty-Four asked with his fingers on the briefcase's lock.

"Yeah, ya haven't stolen in ages," added Kanker while crossing his bare arms.

"Now that is not true," Melody retorted. Raph knew she'd meant the Little Red Robberies, but common thugs wouldn't make such a connection. They scoffed then blocked the briefcase from view as if their long shadows were a show of power over the cyborg in the wake.

"Bad things happen when you don't play by our rules," said Forty-Four darkly.

"Poor, poor, Fry; right?"

Raph had no idea how endeared 'Fry' had been to Melody. The love must've been great, given the sudden tenseness in the air around her, and how strongly she squared her shoulders.

"Touch any more of my family, and I swear I will _kill_ you," she hissed.

' _What family did she have before?_ ' Raph couldn't help wondering. His eyes narrowed at how Melody's tall frame shook. The gangsters were obviously too stupid to realize the dangerous territory they treaded.

"Ya can't; ya need us," Kanker countered. He then shared a look with Forty-Four, nodding.

"We have the antibiotics," the light-skinned man announced. "Same Black Market provider. Enough for a week. But the cost is high."

"I did not bring cash." Melody's remark left her hidden lips cooler than anticipated, and she claimed two steps over an old soda can before the gangsters scrambled back with the briefcase.

"Lady," Kanker started, "if you wanna make future deals, we need satisfaction." His snarl froze the young woman in her tracks, yet why?

' _Does she plan to stay connected with the Black Market?_ '

"Think about it: where would your friends be without us? Dead, right?"

Melody regarded Kanker with her hood held high. "I would find another way. Like usual. So you will not stop me from helping my father."

Raphael gawked as the cyborg's arms shifted beneath her cloak, his stomach dropping like wet sand. A hard blink forced his brain to shove aside the reference to Splinter, so he squirmed in his hunched position for better focus. What had she meant?

"Ya are something else, ain't ya?" asked Kanker with a bellowing laugh. "We both know you don't got a father."

The cyborg shook harder, but through some masterful control, she remained still. The closest she came was tossing something metallic across the worn concrete so it rolled to Forty-Four's boots. While Raphael didn't realize why it ground against the hard floor so harshly, all confusion was soon answered by the way its ovular 'windows' caught the lamp's rays.

He raised his eye ridges and in seconds traveled the bridge until he reached the multi-level catwalks at its end. On ground-level, he approached the trio between a few of the warehouse's support pillars without any need for stealth, stalking along the light's outer reaches.

"That looks like a fancy bit of equipment," he interjected.

Melody continued staring ahead, although the mutant knew she kept note of his slow, circling form. "Mind your own business, fool."

Had she kept the bite from her tone, Raph would've assumed she thought him a stranger. Months of living together revealed the truth, though, and she had probably used her heat sensor to detect his shape in the partial-darkness for confirmation.

"Seriously," said Raph, tense, "is that really somethin' ya outta be throwin' at swine?"

"It is not as valuable as you think."

"Then why the hell are ya giving it to us?" Kanker spat.

"True value is relative." The cyborg took another step ahead. "You can find more value in it than I can right now."

"How's that?" Raph added over Forty-Four's scoff. What little patience resided in Melody was being tested, except the hero didn't care. He glared behind his helmet as he passed the empty bar stool and lamp.

"You should not be here, Nightwatcher," the young woman noted.

Yeah, he could feel the prickle of confrontation sparking the air. However, avoiding a fight wasn't on his agenda at the moment, so he unclipped the Manriki-gusari off his hip.

"Though dead, the power cell can still be used for reverse technology," Melody continued, catching his insistence on answers. "Sold to the right collector or rival, its price would be sufficient."

"But we'd have to go through the trouble of finding that _special one_ ," Forty-Four said while leaning against the briefcase between him and Kanker.

"Oswald Cybernetics has no shortage in rivals; there will be no problem."

"Do you guarantee that, Gray?"

"I don't know about her, but I know what _I_ can guarantee!"

Raphael glanced around the echoing space along with everyone else. A strong rattle along the metal catwalk brought the mutant's attention away from the shelves lined with disorderly crates, and he grimaced when a familiar figure neared the light.

Pierce. How peachy.

The dark-skinned cyborg wore a pompous smirk across his inflated lips, and, yes, his hands still ended in claws. If Raph had no problem exposing his identity, he would chew out the gangster for his eye injury that still burned at times. Seeing as how he did mind, however, he stuck to growling.

"How many party crashers do I gotta deal with tonight?" the hero questioned.

"Believe me; the party hasn't started yet," Pierce teased.

"P—P—Pierce?" Kanker swallowed audibly. "Wh—what are you—?"

The male cyborg snorted through his wide nose. "Save it, tubby. Hun knows. So I'm here to escort you to your…date."

"Do that later," Melody interjected—a challenging action.

"Don't I know you?" Bending forward, Pierce tapped a foot against the dirty concrete, though the young woman remained silent. "I can't place it, but you sound familiar. Did we go to school together? Meet at a club? I didn't date you, did I?"

Raphael rolled his eyes at the idea and he understood why the female cyborg gagged.

"Alright, no dating. Then…what?"

"Hell, forget this." Raph turned his head in time to see Forty-Four steal the briefcase from a distracted Kanker before he began slowly backpedaling. He glanced around the group through erratic eyes, gaping a moment. "N—no one mentioned cyborgs."

"Don't leave me alone!" Capturing the power cell, Kanker followed his partner to the light's boundary until stopped by an unseen force that froze him mid-stride.

Raph's eye ridges furrowed as the chunky man dropped the power cell with a heavy clang. Then, they lowered when the same man fell over while clenching his short leg.

"Hun didn't give you permission to bail on us, Kanker." Pierce's bright tone darkened as quickly as Melody's often did, and a narrow red trail from Kanker's fallen form left the mutant wondering what kind of attack the cyborg had used.

"I have a deal to finish," Melody snapped.

She captured Pierce's arm the moment he ventured forward, squeezing so tightly that her hand dented the man's metal bicep. This startled him and he retaliated by backhanding her—hard. Raph braced himself to catch the young woman when she flew his way, but she recovered on her own after hitting the floor once.

"Wait"—Pierce's dark eyes widened when Melody left her hood down—"you're one of the Black Lotus chicks! Oh, Hun would have a field day with you."

"We must get those antibiotics," Melody said below the annoying chortle from the male cyborg.

Raphael glanced down at her for only a moment before she shifted. "Are those really for Splinter?" he asked in an equally low voice.

She nodded.

"Explain later. For now—"

"You get the antibiotics. I'll deal with Pierce. It's safer if I do. Besides," she paused to unclip her cloak, preparing for a sprint, "I get the feeling he wants to play."

"Play? Ya makin' a funny?" Raph's quip went unanswered; the cyborg pushed off the ground with a power that churned up settled dirt, so he headed for the two men attempting to escape. "Where do ya think ya're goin'?" he asked while whirling his Manriki. "Didn't ya hear? The party's just started!"

Raph heeded Kanker little attention when the fatter gangster stumbled away on a wounded leg. His concentration settled on reeling in the flailing Forty-Four like a fish between an askew set of cargo shelves, and once the suitcase entered range, he leaned down to snag it.

"I'll be takin' this!"

A snarl proceeded a fist towards his helmet—an action that Raph avoided by flipping backwards. When he landed, a boot met his tinted faceplate and knocked him on his carapace hard enough to rip the briefcase from his grasp. It flew towards the shop light like an awkward discus, but the moment Raph flipped to his feet to retrieve it, Pierce and Melody blocked him. She scowled while dodging the male cyborg's sleek claws, to which the Chūnin replied with a shrug.

"Get the case and be careful about it!" she cried.

"What's the big fuss about this case?" Pierce wondered. His gaze panned over Raph and Melody then flickered towards the shop light, possibly due to Forty-Four's movement. "Hold it!"

Forty-Four turned so suddenly his hand knocked over the stool. He flinched as it crashed against the floor lamp, though Raph doubted his scare was due to the noise. Pierce stood before him in the moments, and Raph and Melody were right behind him.

Melody struck high the cyborg with an elbow while the mutant whirled then aimed his Manriki's chain. As he pulled the chain taunt around Pierce's leather pant leg, a sickening sound followed: akin to feet wading through mud. Raph was all too familiar with the sound of pierced flesh, and he jerked the Mankiri chain with all his strength after Melody's attack slung Pierce backwards.

The result whirled the male cyborg in a half circle, until his lean body took down Kanker before colliding with a heavily-loaded cargo shelf. He didn't bother noting the damage, his attention already set on Forty-Four. Melody gripped the briefcase and held a hand against the man's gut as he groaned.

"How deep is it?" Raph asked. Even if the guy was a low-life, the dribbles of blood that worked through the cyborg's metal fingers left the mutant disgusted.

She didn't reply, and no sooner did her cool vision lift did she move aside.

Made sense; Raphael could feel the distilled air behind him like an elephant stampede. He reacted in time to dodge a bum-rush, though kept his Mankiri close, his body stiffening in a defensive position. A snarl vibrated from his throat when Pierce slid to a stop where Melody once knelt, his worry rising as the male cyborg reached for the lamp.

"You know what would make this night exciting?" Pierce's claw-finger scratched over one of the lamp's four light-bulbs then tapped it. "A little flare."

"I'll show ya a flare!" Raph whirled his Mankiri again—this time with the intent of capturing Pierce's dangerous hands.

Pierce smirked without moving. It seemed odd until the mutant realized that his opponent willed capture. The Mankiri's chain and lamp lured the hero close, and the second he prepared for a punch, Pierce slashed his arms upwards like a reverse guillotine. The thick leather of Raphael's Nightwatcher costume saved him from serious injury; yet he could barely ignore the sting then sudden chill of the exposed flesh across the forearm he shielded himself with.

"You remind me of someone I fought before," Pierce noted. "He once tried something similar with a jacket. Didn't work so well."

Raph could only scowl in response. ' _Mike's idea of removin' his arms is soundin' more an' more appealin'_.'

"Oh, have you seen Kanker around? I'm supposed to bring him back alive. Then again…"

"We don't owe ya any favors," Raph spat. He found it unsettling how Pierce cocked his head when he found Kanker huddled near a shelf and how his face lit up when glanced towards Melody and Forty-Four.

"All a flare needs is a little spark."

"Ya off yer crazy meds today?" Raph demanded with tense arms.

Man, did he hate Pierce's smile. It was a pretty clear sign of madness, but confusion kept Raphael still. He watched through narrowed eyes as the male cyborg rushed to a shelf, crushing the remaining light bulbs in his grasp. The act was timed perfectly with a scrape of his claws against a metal shelf—enough for several sparks to erupt when the electric current shorted.

The action hardly warranted alarm until a faint sizzle rang through the warehouse. Whatever crate Pierce approached was open, and its contents glowed so faintly, it resembled a dying cigarette in the distance. Raph glanced at Melody, except she didn't look as clueless as the mutant felt. He almost asked her why, until the sizzling intensified.

A glance at Pierce revealed more light from the man's claws creating friction against each other. Their dark sparks sprinkled the crate's inside, and two steps closer seized Raph. While he could barely read the worn text stamped across the wood, his eyes picked out two key phrases: 'keep fire away' and 'fusses'.

Well, that would be his Turtle Luck.

* * *

 **A/N:** Words of encouragement are always loved, so, please, leave a review. :)


	17. Flare (Part 2)

**Chapter 16:** **Flare (Part 2)**

An intense ringing silenced the world around Raphael. It disoriented him, hindered his moves, and he felt as if he were floating when he lifted his head from a concrete slab.

' _What happened?_ ' he thought while bringing a hand to his temple. Hold up; it was bare, and covered with a light, grainy substance. ' _Wh—where's my helmet? Screw that, where am I?_ '

The mutant glanced around, shifting against the hard ground below his spread body. Blinking served little purpose; his vision remained cloudy—though distinct, orange shapes roused worry over a biting heat through his Nightwatcher uniform.

' _Why am I in a burnin' building?'_

Raph's subsequent growl grew into a violent cough. Then he blinked away ash that settled near his eyes. The distinct taste of blood and dirt in his mouth cleared his mind a little more, but he could barely hear the crackling flames that encircled him. Suffocating pressure kept him from twisting. When he glanced over his shoulder, he realized a fallen shelf pinned him in placed with its heavy load of wooden creates.

Oh, great.

After a groan, Raph narrowed his eyes at the stamped text closest to him. ' _Fireworks. Right. That crazy Pierce was tryin' ta blow us sky high. So where are the others?_ '

The mutant glanced ahead, ears filled with the prominent sound of fire eating crate after crate through the scarred warehouse. He swore they ate through his gut as well, and a glance down the shelf pinning him solicited a curse. Panic set in as he struggled away from the flames creeping along the fireworks over his carapace. It added little strength to his otherwise shell-shocked body, reiterating the close danger.

His leg burned under the contact. Although he could barely curl it, he had no intention of enduring a face full of mortar. So, with a loud roar, he pushed his arms beneath him then did a push-up fueled by the adrenaline coursing through his veins. A satisfying clunk then clink sounded beside him, yet he also heard the sizzling, which drove him to his unsteady feet.

One step warned him of his current weakness. He swayed through the ash rain and shook his sweating head for some concentration in the furnace. However, he had no idea where he stood. Or where the exit was. Every way looked the same: an orange-white haze filled with insurmountable heat and the possibility of more fireworks.

' _Kuso!_ '

Figuring some direction would be better than none, the mutant turned right when prompted by the cackles behind him. He immediately met a rough force that tackled then rolled him across the concrete towards a shelf engulfed in flames. Coughing towards the dusty ground, he glared at the figure that laid part-way on him; yet Melody tucked his head below her arm while covering a greater part of his body with her own.

Just in time, too. A high-pitch whirling filled the smoky air, which was soon followed by several more like it. Judging from their range, they must've launched from the direction Raphael had been heading for, so he didn't fight the cyborg's shield until the rockets' climaxes were reached. Their bone-rattling booms shook him senseless, and he hit the side of his head, frowning at the returning ringing.

"That clears the exit," Melody said, straightening. She spoke calmly, although her eye was wild, studying the fire as if it owed her an answer.

"Then let's get the hell out 'a here before the roof caves!" Raph countered through a wheeze. He coughed again, stood—only Melody brushed him off as soon as he tugged her shoulder.

"C—can't, Raphael. You go."

"Are ya kiddin'? Donny would kill me. Now let's _go_!"

"No!" It'd been months since the Chūnin last heard Melody's voice break, so it threw him off when the cyborg staggered away.

He almost yelled in return until his voice died at the sight of her burned flesh. While her cyber suit kept the fireworks' gun powder from her back, her exposed bicep and neck was blackened, red and glossy. The reality of why thickened Raph's breathing. ' _All 'cuz she was keepin' the brunt off me…_ '

"P—Pierce took Kanker, but he didn't…" The cyborg swayed then fell to her knees by a pile of red-hot debris.

"Come on, Melody!" Raph insisted. He ignored his whitening vision and clouded lungs to grasp her robotic bicep. She pulled it back, leaning over the low-burning material to shift through it wildly. "What are ya doin'?"

"It has to be here!" she retorted. Then, she moved to another pile.

"Melody, this place could cave at any minute. We've gotta move!"

Still, she shoved him backwards, her eye round with horror. "You go. I—I can handle this. I can find it."

"The briefcase?"

The cyborg stumbled towards a larger section filled with fire then pushed over several expended crates for a new view.

"Shit, Melody!" the mutant bellowed after her. "I know it's for Sensei, but you can't—"

"No, you _don't_ know!" she shot back venomously.

Tears lessened the intimidation of her half-human glare, and Raph scrambled to stop her the moment she physically reached through the flames to move more crates. The temperature beat against his face to the point where his eyes watered, yet he kept pulling until his arms circled her waist. She kicked her feet in a clumsy attempt to uncovered more debris.

"Listen!" she yelled, words shaking like her body. "He's getting worse. He's needs a specific regiment and it must start with _those_ antibiotics."

"They ain't worth your life, Gray," Raph countered against her neck. It required all his strength to keep her in front because working his way backwards was akin to towing a muscle car stuck in reverse.

"But they're worth _his_."

Raphael stiffened at Melody's sob. His hesitance left him doubled over after Melody elbowed him for freedom, and he shallowly sought poisoned air while the cyborg returned to the debris.

"We have one chance," she said over the roaring flames. "If we're forced to start Chemo first, th—the sickness could get worse. And if he can't breathe—if his lungs…No. We need too much. One chance. It's always one chance."

"Melody." Raph could barely speak; lost oxygen was taking its toll, and he swayed in the suffocating heat. His foot slid frontward, but rather than fight for her attention, Melody gave it willingly, her expression lost.

"It's not here, is it?" she asked softly.

Raph didn't answer. Movement drew his gaze upwards and instinct drove him forward. He gathered Melody in his arms, diving away from the thundering crash of what used to be part of the warehouse's roof. He sat up through the churned ash clouds then dragged the young woman further away when smaller ceiling pieces followed like dripping hot iron.

After standing, he glanced down at the listless cyborg in his hands. She was pliable to his guidance, which felt unnatural; however, he had little time to consider why. He pulled her behind him by the hand, his body protesting for sleep every inch of the way, and he need only overturn a cargo shelf to clear the exit Melody had pointed out earlier.

Sweet relief met him in form of cold air, which struck his flesh and purged his lungs with long, deep coughs. He made it several feet out the loading door before collapsing and he hated how his body struggled to keep him on his hands and knees. Cursing Turtle Luck, he gave into the weakness, taking a seat so he could attend the cyborg who fell along with him.

"A—are ya—okay?" he questioned through dry coughs.

Melody kept her vision settled on the cracked pavement below them. It was a surreal sight, honestly; Raphael had become so accustomed to her cool glares and dead stares that he gaped under the unseeing gaze of her dirty face lit by the warehouse's flames.

' _The last time I saw her so frantic was when Don was dyin'…_ '

"Oi, Melody." He tried shoving her shoulder for an angry response, except she didn't budge. "Come on, i—it was just some antibiotics, right?"

"No," she croaked. Not yelled, not snapped—croaked. Her square jaw shook with her next words and she made no effort to retaliate the mutant's actions. "I needed those. He's entering the late stages."

"S—Splinter?"

"She's taking too long. _They're_ taking too long. You guys just don't _get_ it."

"I think I get that my father's really sick," Raph snarled. He glared after another coughing fit; though the wounded stare he earned shot through him with overwhelming emotion.

"But you haven't been down this road like I have," Melody said, low. "You know he's sick, yet you haven't seen what's going to happen next. You don't have the foresight of how hard it will be near the end."

"End? What are ya—?"

"You think it will go away over night? Like a cold? Cancer doesn't work that way, Raphael. It comes silently then at its closing stages strikes without mercy. There's pain, weakness, and mental suffering—worse than any flu—and the only way we can help him is carefully."

"Ain't that wh—what ya've been doing?"

At the mutant's pointed stare, Melody's expression darkened. "What has Donatello told you?"

"That ya've been workin' wit' Nia's IgRs, that…ya're tryin' ta recreate Recro-12, minus any permanent effects like wit' Kaiya n'…him 'n Leo."

Was his answer amusing? Raphael didn't think so, and frowned as the cyborg's sardonic laughter evolved into a deep hack.

"He hasn't mentioned the plethora of dead ends, has he?" she asked.

"He just says ya're workin' on things."

"Heaven forbid he tell the full truth."

"Which is what?"

Melody met Raphael's challenging tone with a glossy eye. "Cancer is hard enough for a regular human, let alone a mutant. Splinter could very well react badly to one drug, yet take well to another. If we don't have those drugs to test, however, we'll only succeed in wasting time wondering 'Will this work?' And you know what could happen?"

The mutant kept quiet only because his tongue was so dry, it felt bloated in his mouth.

"He could rapidly decline," the cyborg whispered, chin rising as if it kept her strong. "It happens. Mother functioned fine for years. Then, within a month, everything about her changed. She decayed before my eyes. T—to anyone that's difficult. But for a twelve-year-old?" She shook her head. "It was frightening. My world crashed, and I wasn't ready for her to go. I wasn't ready…."

"Th—the briefcase," Raph cleared his throat, though it did little good, "was there more than antibiotics in there?"

Melody released a shuddering sigh then glanced at the burning building. "I never got the chance to find out. Thanks to _you_."

"Hey, I was doin' my job! Pierce is the one who started the flare. Maybe if ya hadn't been workin' such a shady angle, things would've gone beddah."

"Had I told any of you, you would've never let me come."

"Ya don't know that."

"The Damn Mechanic already said no. He isn't willing like I am. I don't care if the drugs are bought from someone crooked. As long as I get them to save who I need, that's all that matters. That's all that's _ever_ mattered to me. But no one if this clan seems to understand necessary means!"

"So that makes it alright for ya ta act on yer own?" Choking down a wheeze, Raphael jabbed a finger into Melody's collarbone. "This is Otōsan's life; we should all be a part 'a the decision process—includin' him!"

"I made the choice because you Hamatos are so damn stubborn," the cyborg countered with a hiss. "Don insists April and Gavin can get a hold of drugs without a license while Splinter refuses to admit he's likely developing pneumonia."

When Raph swallowed, it felt like biting down his thumping heart. "He's got pneumonia?"

"Yes. From an untreated case of Bronchitis that he's been suppressing with Licorice Tea. He's a melting pot of sickness and—and…" Melody placed a hand against the flesh side of her face, refusing to meet Raphael's gaze.

"I—I didn't know it was that bad."

"Because everyone is down-playing it. No one wants a panic, which is fine. But I could no longer ignore our best option. Or, what was."

"There's still a chance April 'n Anders can gather somethin', right?"

"Maybe."

"So why go behind their backs when they—"

"Forget it, Raphael." The young woman scoffed then twisted away. "You don't understand."

"That's why I'm askin'." Raph jerked Melody's shoulder back so hard that she had no choice except meet his frown. "It's weird for ya ta do somethin' like this when ya've been gettin' along wit' everyone. I thought ya wanted ta be part 'a the clan."

"I do."

"Well, we don't make choices like this wit'out consultin' at least one member. A clan is a team, remember?"

"No one wanted to be on _my_ team!" Melody snapped in a whisper—a vulnerable action.

Raphael could feel his hand falling from her shoulder, his anger withering under her broken expression. He meant to hold her stare, but her gaze lowered to her hands, which curled into shaking fists against her lap as she continued.

"Not even Donny…I—I want to save Splinter more than anything right now. I can't watch this process again. What's more, I can't watch the clan endure it. I—I don't want Donatello—any of you—to feel what I felt when Mother died. Then go through it myself. I—I'm not _that_ strong."

"There're people who would claim otherwise," Raph noted over her scoff. It was a weird feeling, wanting to touch her; however, he let his hand find hers, then awkwardly kept it there as she stiffened. "I would've been on yer side."

"Yeah, right."

"Really." When the cyborg glanced his way, Raph ensured every amount of seriousness reflected in his eyes. "If Sensei's gettin' worse, if the best way ta help him is through Black Market ties, then…that's what it would take. I mean, we don't have much choice, do we?"

"That's exactly what I tried telling Don," Melody muttered. "He wouldn't listen."

"Ya think he's hard ta convince? Imagine if Leo were here." Raph tried chuckling at his own quip, though it went unappreciated by both parties. So he gripped the cyborg tighter, speaking rigidly to the human he rarely conversed with. "Look, a clan won't always agree wit' ya; I know that beddah than anyone. But there's usually one exception, one sibling who's willin' ta give yer route a try. Not talkin' ta them all before ya go an' do somethin' stupid isn't givin' them a fair chance, is it?"

"What are you saying?" Melody asked in an undertone. Her words trembled and she drew a quick breath as if preparing for a treacherous leap.

"In this instance, I level wit' ya. If contactin' the Black Market means savin' Sensei's life, I'll do it. Which means if ya set up anymore 'a these deals, I'm comin' too."

"You'll have my back?"

While Melody spoke cynically, Raph sent her a pointed stare, saying, "Yes."

His simple answer erased her contemptuous smile into unease. The cyborg's blue-gray eye flickered towards him then returned to the warehouse fire while she gulped down surprise.

"Ya wanna help Splinter at all costs. So do I. So next time, call me."

"Who knows if you'll answer," Melody noted towards the side.

"Guess it depends on my mood," Raph shot back with a smirk. He wanted her to crack a light smile, and thankfully, she did. It was a vulnerable sign he understood well, so he drew back his hand to push himself off the ground. "Come on; we'd better get cleaned before headin' back. An' come up wit' one hell of a cover story…"

* * *

 **A/N:** I've been eager for some hard-head sibling fluff. Raph and Mel have the potential for mutual respect and understanding, and I think they're on that path. I see them being a great power duo in future battles. :)

BTW, thanks so MUCH for reviews, guys. Seriously. They're really appreciated and motivating. Sometimes, it's just what I need. So, don't be shy. :D


	18. Tunneling

**A/N:** No more Hoshi and Figo banter just yet. We got other stuff brewing...Next chapter, though. Promise! :) Also, it feels like forever since I last posted a chapter. Weird.

* * *

 **Chapter 17:** **Tunneling**

Maintaining a calm demeanor was growing increasingly difficult for Splinter from day to day. He wanted to smile, to assure his family of his health. But the truth was this: he felt terrible. Between the aches, lost appetite, lethargy, occasional fevers, wheezing, and unstable moods, he could no longer find peace. And it worried him how the symptoms were constant…

' _How much longer must I endure?_ ' the rat thought, shifting in the living room armchair.

Although his wrists and ankles hardly twisted with the motion, an expected burn raced through their joints. They left him near tears, bringing one paw behind him when his jerk reawakened new back pain. He grimaced as his claws prodded the tender flesh above his tail, and his remaining paw pulsed from the tight grip it held on his cane.

' _The bed sore is worsening. I try my best to keep on my feet, away from the pressure point, yet it will not alleviate. If it begins tunneling…_ '

"Splinter-san? I—I've got your tea."

After a few blinks, Splinter glanced up in hope of hiding his discomfort with a smile. Nia returned his gesture and he forced his hand to remain steady when he accepted the tea cup she offered. "Arigato, Nia-chan."

"I—it's the K'ekchi brew," the young woman said softly, her eyes following the cup to his lap.

"With honey?"

Nia chuckled—a half-hearted action whilst she sat on the vacant couch. "Just how we like it."

The wizened rat inhaled the tea's aroma before sipping it. Unfortunately, its potent ease no longer affected him like months before, so he dreaded meeting his daughter's bleak expression.

"How are you?" she questioned.

"I am managing," Splinter answered.

"Your exercises aren't helping with the pain anymore, are they?"

"Nia-chan—"

"Please"—Nia twisted so her elbows met the couch's armrest—"if you don't talk about it, you'll only feel worse."

Splinter gave a haggard sigh towards his cup, riling heat against his sensitive nose. "Even so, the worry sickens me. I cannot, as a father, look into the eyes of my children, and know I am the source of their pain."

"I get that. But…"

"It is awfully quiet in the Lair. Why not tell me where everyone is?"

The artist her chin then glossed over the living room. "Well," she started, "Raph couldn't escort me from work because he got caught up with a project. And Mikey-niichan had to meet him at the, uh, underground garage."

"What of Donatello and Melody-san?"

Splinter twitched at the thought of the cyborg. ' _Who knows what that girl was up to when she drugged me? I lost an entire evening and my eyes still feel heavy._ '

"Strangely enough, Melody-chan was with them."

"So Donatello escorted you?"

Nia nodded, though she did so with an unease that made the master listen for extra motion in their Lair.

"Is he home?"

"No. H—he left to meet Leatherhead-san and April-chan as soon as we got back."

"Undoubtedly for another overnight study session." To keep from groaning, Splinter concentrated on the warmth of his K'ekchi tea. It soothed his palms and claws, yet offered no distraction from the troubled Chi beside him.

"I—it's just us, if you want to talk," Nia said near a whisper. "Not like usual, either. Y—you can be completely honest."

"I appreciate the offer, Nia-chan," the old master replied, gaze set on his cup.

The artist shifted so fast that Splinter's ear twitched when some of her tea spilled against the carpet. "Please don't brush it off anymore, Splinter-san. I know you've had talks with everyone before, but they haven't been fair to you."

Splinter sent his daughter a questioning sidelong glance and she sighed.

"You never say how you really feel. Are you scared we'll be upset?"

"No, my child."

"Then why?"

"Nia-chan—"Splinter faced the glossy-eyed human—"I cannot share everything. It is not because I do not desire to do so or that I lack faith in my clan's strength, but because I am a father.

"Donatello and Melody-san are working hard. Even so, I must recognize the possibility of failure. Sh"—the rat swallowed thickly—"should I unleash how I truly feel on their shoulders, the weight would crush them in the case of my death. The passing would be easier on everyone if they believe I have accepted this fate."

"But you haven't." Bold yet wounded, Nia shook her head. "I—is that why you're so angry? I can sense it like a flame off your Chi, so please don't deny it."

"You have come a long way in understanding your gift, Nia-chan," Splinter whispered.

"I know feelings, though I—I don't know the reason for them. A—are you angry at us for not having the answer yet?"

Her trembling lips were like a blow to the mutant's gut, and they tightened his throat once he realized what she had really meant. "I do not feel as if you or anyone else has failed me, my daughter. You, especially, have sacrificed more than a father would ever want. And I do wish you would stop."

"But I—" Nia hicked then turned towards the low-volume televisions.

Splinter had forgotten which show aired by now, and could not have cared less how much he missed. So he outstretched a paw over the armrests between him and Nia to regain her attention. "Would you like to know the real reason?" he asked in controlled words.

"Yes," she croaked, her eyes imploring.

"I am angry at my body." When the young woman blinked, Splinter collected his paws atop his cane, straightening despite how his bed sore stung. "I despise how weak it is growing, and loathe to think how worse things will become. I have trained rigorously all my life, yet that built strength is being taken from me like slow torture. I feel betrayed, annoyed, and…scared."

"S—scared you'll die?" Nia asked lowly.

The master met her gaze with a stern frown. "I do not fear death. I fear dying unfulfilled."

Confusion grew behind the young woman's eyes, lightening their blue-green color as her thick brows knit together.

"I—I could never leave this world without knowing my sons have found complete happiness," the rat continued through scratchy words. "Raphael and Donatello now have the most intimate form of support with you and Melody-san respectively. You have withstood the trials Fate has handed you and forged strong bonds I could not be more proud of.

"However, Leonardo is still lost. His letters are scarce, his mind fractured. I cannot tell him of my state in fear that he may break completely. As for Michelangelo"—Splinter paused for a bittersweet smile—"his hopes keep crashing. His tender heart has reached out towards two young women in need. Both have slipped from his grasp in radical ways."

"I—I never meant—"

Splinter shook his head. "Of course not, Nia-chan. Michelangelo's feelings for you were not your responsibility. And he came to accept your choice in time."

"And that one girl, Christina, she…"

"Possibly had every intention of leaving with Michelangelo before her death." It hurt to sigh so deeply, though memories of his youngest son's depression paled in comparison. When compared with Leonardo's expression before he left for South America, the pain strengthened exponentially—to the point where Splinter's body shook. "They both have wounds yet to heal. I cannot leave them without knowing they have found someone who can mend them. Yet I may have no choice…"

Nia was silent and remained so when she sniffled.

"So you see," Splinter added after a moment, "I am not ready. There is much I must witness, and realizing I may not get the chance makes me curse my body. It has been so healthy for so long. Then now, of all times, it wishes to deteriorate? Why could it not have waited? A few more years at least. By then, my eldest and youngest may have found someone they could lean on as well."

"Y—you…you really think you're going to die…"

Nia's whisper barely carried over the faint chatter from Splinter's soap opera, yet sunk into the mutant rat's chest like hot coals. He held no energy to fake a smile, and was only saved from reiterating his belief when the Lair's entrance grinded.

Splinter twisted his head towards it, noting the five bodies filing into the Lair. "Okaerinasai, Minna-san," he addressed to his clan.

"Konbanwa," they returned in staggering voices.

"Donatello, April-chan"—Splinter glanced from the redhead to the purple-masked Chūnin—"you are home sooner than expected."

Donatello blanched a little then regarded his shorter siblings with a calm sidelong glance. "We needed to stop at the garage for some tools, and happened on these three."

Raphael regarded the genius' pointed thumb like a still spider. "Told ya we were workin' on somethin' an' it went bad, Brainiac. Ya didn't need ta see us home."

"Mel stitched your leg with equipment from my emergency kit in the garage, but her back needs serious treatment."

"We would'a been fine."

"Like you can tend second-degree burns."

"She could've instructed me."

"Now you want us to believe you'd follow Melody's lead?" Michelangelo added while bending in half.

Raphael's golden glare forced him upright again as he smirked. "I did on April Fools. Remember that?"

The orange-masked mutant shuddered, retreating to Nia's side on the couch. "Your husband beat me up so meanly," he whined.

The artist collected herself with a breath and patted his bald head, though she didn't say a word after sparing Splinter a miserable look.

"You two should be more careful where you look for parts," April noted while crossing her arms. "Though I find it weird Melody accompanied you to the Junkyard in the first place."

"Why's that?" Raphael shot back.

"Only machines she can identify are medical. Why would she agree to help you look for spare parts for the Battle Shell and Shell Cycle?"

"I am stronger than he is," Melody interjected, square chin raised. "How could I pass up the chance to toss heavy objects at him?"

"Is that supposed to be a joke?" April countered with a mild sneer.

"Okay." Donatello moved so he stood between the strong-willed females. "Melody, can you come with me to the Lab, so I can look at those boiler burns?"

The cyborg remained silent and did not nod. Still, she followed her mate without complaint, not bothering to return April's frown or acknowledge Splinter's dubious stare. Once they disappeared down the hall, the wizened rat concluded he likely would not receive an answer for the cyborg's earlier actions until they spoke one on one. And so he watched the redhead as she turned to Raphael.

"What?" the hothead demanded.

"A boiler accident?"

"Yeah," answered Michelangelo. He earned the redhead's intense stare then smiled. "Melody's old house has been converted into a place for the elderly and homeless kids. A couple of guys found and repurposed an old boiler system, and Raph and her didn't know about it until Melody's back met it."

"Uh-huh."

"It's true, Dudette!"

Nia sent the nunchaku master a subtle look that April missed when she rolled her eyes. ' _A lie perhaps?_ '

"Sure, Mikey."

"I'll take pictures if you'd like, before I meet Kaiya and Hugh on Tuesday."

"You're meeting them again?"

Michelangelo's smile grew. "Trying to make it a weekly thing. When's the last time you saw them?"

"I haven't seen Kaiya since the party, but I had lunch with Hugh a couple of weeks ago. We didn't talk about much; just a bit about the EPF presence within the NYPD, the Hub bombings, and"—she hesitated—"Splinter."

"You can inform him I am as one would expect," the mutant rat about spat.

"Of course, Splinter-san," April replied.

Splinter could not huff or snort without seeming irritated, so he reined in his feelings by struggling to his feet. The process was painful, slow, except he would not meet his family's eyes nor permit their help. He stood taller than his back would like then nodded towards the group while barely keeping upright with his cane.

"I should retire," he said in a stoic tone. "April-chan, you know you are welcome to stay overnight. And please inform Melody-san and Donatello I wish them a wonderful rest. Oyasuminasai."

Instinct led him to bow, though part of him knew the formality rendered his control pointless. He could feel the worried stares at the back of his head when he hobbled towards his bedroom, and it angered him to think no matter what he did, they would not ease.

He could only wish their suffering would stop, even at the cost of his life…

* * *

Hugh stretched his long limbs over his king-size bed. Being dressed down to his boxers and a light t-shirt always felt good after a long day's work, but lately it'd been more enjoyable. ' _It's like every time I lay down, I feel lucky. Guess I don't realize how much is at stake until I come home…_ '

"Hugh."

The normally sweet voice of his wife had the detective inwardly cringing. "Yes, my love?"

"Look at me."

Hugh got the distinct feeling he was being set up, yet complied and lifted his head from the pillows. His curvy lover leaned against their bedroom doorframe, dressed in an open silk robe that barely covered her lingerie. His eyes traveled from her bare feet upwards, and he almost let himself get excited, until he noted the scowl across her tan face.

Yup. It was a trap.

"What are you doing?" Marina questioned.

"Depends. How are you feeling?" Regrettably, the man's impish smile earned him little more than the closure of his wife's robe.

"You don't show up for dinner then expect me to be in a good mood?"

"I called about the delay."

"You've been doing that a lot lately."

"It's my job, Rina."

"That's always your excuse." Sighing, Marina shifted so she leaned against the doorframe's other side. "Why not let me in on your cases? It's not like you work for Black Ops. You aren't sworn to complete secrecy."

"Some things are just"—Hugh glanced at his dark hands—"better left unsaid."

"Like threats against your life?"

The male jerked his head up, his knees drawing up in surprise. "Where'd you hear that?"

"You aren't the only one good at tunneling for information," the wavy-haired woman countered. She sauntered towards the bed, although Hugh felt unnerved rather than aroused by her hips' motion. "Damien knows more than me. How am I supposed to feel about that?"

"He told you?"

"Seems he's more willing to talk with me than you are."

"And your imposing stares have nothing to do with it."

"You wouldn't say anything. What else was I supposed to do?"

"Rina." Hugh crawled to the bed's foot to grasp his wife's hands, but she pulled away with a ferocity that jabbed him with guilt.

"Your busy schedule was okay for time. Now, I can't handle the secrecy, blind trust, and waiting any longer."

"Wh—what are you saying?"

The middle-aged woman strengthened her features so every line across her face stiffened with resolve.

Hugh's body tingled at their message, so he tried again to capture his wife. "Marina, think about this."

"I have," she spat while taking another step back. When her brown eyes darkened, he knew she'd been considering the matter for a long time.

"R—Rina, I know things have been stressful for a few months, but—"

The wife cut her husband short with a simple wave of her hand. "But nothing, Reese. If this is the road we're taking, if your coworkers are more involved in your life than me, then I…I can't stay. You don't get it. You don't know what it means to stand beside you and feel like an outsider."

"You're not an outsider," Hugh whispered. While he didn't want to panic, he also couldn't ignore his short breath as he knelt on the bed. "You're my sanity when I came home, my rock."

"What about _my_ sanity?" Marina whispered back. "Where's _my_ support? Y—you're hardly here anymore. It's lonely. And I can't…I can't take it anymore. I can't handle being in second place, especially not when…"

Hugh watched Marina's arms press against her chubby stomach, except she stayed quiet with her gaze set on them. "When what, Rina?"

The woman glanced up, her eyes hardening further. "You don't deserve to know," she said stoically. "Why do I have to share when you won't?"

"I share," the man snapped. He slipped off the bed to stand, although he knew better than the approach his wife at this stage. "Some things I have to keep from you so others are protected. And sometimes I do it for your safety. You think I want to live a life with so many secrets?"

"Is there really that much you aren't telling me?"

Hugh wanted to shake his head. It would be pointless, though; not only would he not be believed, he didn't want to add lying to his long list of offences.

"Bishop has threatened to devastate you and everything you love because of these secrets," the woman added, grim in tone and composure. "Yet you insist on keeping them. So much so that you sanctioned Kyle Erlich's decision to act as a mole in the EPF."

"The circumstances are a little more complicated than you might think."

"Then please elaborate."

Hugh closed his mouth, unsure how he could explain without repeating himself or sounding guarded.

"Thought so," Marina croaked. It probably was the reaction she'd expected but hoped wouldn't happen; her lips trembled despite how she clenched her jaw and her hard gaze grew glossy as she sniffled. "Is it fair to endanger me for your secrets? What about the Williams?"

"It's not that simple. I can't just back off."

"Why not?"

"Because Bishop would find a way to take me down regardless. I'm under enough pressure between Inspector Erb and the Hub attacks. That's right. A few people have hinted that they think I'm involved, particularly that stupid Agent Patterson stationed at the precinct."

"What does he matter?"

"Marina"—Hugh inhaled a shuddering breath—"I'm sorry. But a war is brewing in this city, and I'm already involved. I have to do my part to keep everyone safe…and not think selfishly."

Marina wouldn't glance away, though Hugh wished she would. Her glare was frigid and filled with a deep pain caused by him. It also kept him still—as if one false move could shatter his world.

"That's admirable for most, Hugh," she said after a pause. "Now listen to me. You're either a husband or a soldier. I'm either your partner or someone you simple share a space with. There is no middle ground. There's no more living on the outskirts of your world.

"I—I'll leave the choice to you. Meanwhile, I'll be staying with Jennifer and you're only to see Blaine at work."

There were no closing words. No 'goodbye' or 'see you later'. Not that Hugh could form a reply. The moment his wife neared their closet, his mind reeled. And when she exited it with a packed suitcase at the ready and a long trench coat in hand, his gut sank with reality.

She passed him without making eye contact. Was that for the better or worse? He didn't know. All he could be sure of was how painful it felt when the bedroom door clicked shut behind her.

* * *

 **A/N:** I could write Splinter/Children talks all day. While he has much to offer, he still needs support at times. Don't know if I've said this before, but I feel Nia will grow into the guidance role once Splinter's...passed. Whenever that day may be. They're good for one another.

Anyways.

HUGH. This is the start to a grueling point in his life. He will be tested...

Next is Chapter 18: _Sideshow_! Why not leave a review in the meantime? :D


	19. Sideshow

**A/N:** Sciencegal and WOLF, thanks for being such consistent reviewers. Keeps me from wanting to give up completely. LOL *sigh*

Crap will start hitting the fan soon...

* * *

 **Chapter 18:** **Sideshow**

Michelangelo couldn't help loving children. Seriously, those who discredited their value were blind, and those who mistreated them were selfish cowards. Watching Kaiya was one of the top highlights in the mutant's life, so he smiled as she gleefully laughed at her freedom across Central Park.

"Is it just me, or does she get faster every day?" Mikey asked Hugh. Even under the insufficient moonlight, the ninja could pinpoint his companion.

Hugh, standing yards away from The Pool, watched the bright blur that circled the males over and over again. "She has Usain Bolt beat for sure."

"Have you clocked her speeds yet?"

"Don't tell Blaine, but…yes."

"And?"

The tall detective shifted. "Her sprints outshine a cheetah, and a steady run puts her between a lion and an antelope."

Mikey released a long, low whistle. "Make sure she doesn't turn into a thief; they'd never catch her."

"Think you boys will have to make sure of that," Hugh countered, tsking. Mikey barely saw him raise an arm to rub his long neck when Kaiya deviated to the wood line, where her trailing hoots echoed through the night. "She's sure excited tonight."

"Well, she does get to hang out with some pretty awesome company," Mikey remarked with a half-lidded expression.

"Maybe that's part of the reason. Mostly, I think she's thankful to be out of her house."

"Last I saw her was at Lacio Circus. Has Blaine still been—you know?"

"We've barely talked since then. I know his emotions are settling, but he really should suck things up and do what's necessary."

"What's he think we're going to do? Hurt her?"

"Obviously not. Or else she wouldn't have been allowed to come."

"Then what's the problem? …Hugh?" Mikey gripped the silent man, drawing his attention from the wood line. While Hugh's skin and clothes acted as natural camouflage, the Chūnin sensed a frown and pressured for answers by squeezing his hand until a sigh sounded.

"Last Thursday, Bishop visited my precinct," Hugh said stiffly.

"What?"

"I know you boys have been working through issues of your own, so I said nothing about it. The threat was for my people anyway; it's not your trouble yet."

"Are you kidding me?" Michelangelo glared, his hand tightening. "We're the ones who asked for help. Hell, _I'm_ the one who left the damn bag. Now you're being threatened?"

"Relax," Hugh retorted while prying the mutant's tense fingers off his sleeve. "We're taking precautionary measures. I mean, I feel guilty the others don't realize the danger's extent or the real reason they're in it. Even so, I also feel confident I'm on the right side, despite the…drawbacks."

"Does Blaine feel the same way?"

The man groaned.

"I take it this is why you didn't elaborate on your fight."

"I'm a big boy, Michelangelo. I can handle things."

"Still, a threat from Bishop is—oh, I don't know— _big_! That's something you should'a shared."

"And how much does a Hamato share?" Hugh huffed. "I believe that warehouse fire this past Sunday involved Raphael, yet he won't give away any intel. Claims the Nightwatcher helmet found at the scene has nothing to do with him. I understand the secrecy, but it's like you don't trust me."

"It isn't you, Hugh. Raph hasn't told anyone the truth, not even Nia. We all know he's lying, but"—the mutant tensed his jaw—"we won't get answers until either him or Melody breaks."

"Melody was there as well?"

"She has burns. Said it was an accident, but…"

"Listen: I want to be someone you can rely on, like with O'Neil and Jones." Hugh spoke softly, earnestly, his vision roaming the field as Kaiya's voice grew louder. "My co-workers and I are working an angle. If we get stuck, I'll ask for help. Until then, trust I can deal with the shit I brought on myself.

"I didn't have to help you in December. I don't have to stand by you now. But I will. And there's nothing you can do about it."

"Hugh," Mikey breathed. The detective snorted at his speechlessness, and a rare sense of annoyance roused from the offhanded nature. Even the jokester knew better than to treat loyalty with anything less than respect.

"My life's turned upside down since our meeting," Hugh continued. "I'm not the only one in that boat, either."

He shook his head, drawing Mikey's attention to Kaiya when she stumbled out of the dark woods. She heaved as she returned the man's wave then collapsed in the grass with a long moan that was strangled by her lost breath.

Hugh stepped forward then twisted, speaking in a somber undertone, "It's hard work caring for this city as much as you do, so I'm going to help your family carry the burden."

"You know it isn't required, right?" Michelangelo asked while following his companion towards Kaiya.

"Isn't that what gives it more meaning? Bishop's poisoning everyone he can and is a danger against your kind: the so-called Sidehow of the universe. I've dealt with enough prejudice in my life to know I must stand against him—for you, for Nia, for," the man directed ahead with a hand, "her. It taxes on me, my wife, and friends. Regardless, I know it's my role. So I'll play it."

"If you insist." Elbowing the detective's side in play kept Mikey from choking on his words, though his tight throat burned when he swallowed. "Just promise if you get threatened again, you'll say something. We don't stand for those, especially when it comes to our allies, _Uncle Hugh_."

"Only if you agree to be more open about your not-so-secret identities."

"I can't speak for Raph. As for me? Deal."

Hugh smiled snidely in return, signaling the conversation's end once he reached Kaiya's spread body. Her wild hair looked near florescent in the darkness, and he ran a hand through it after kneeling. "Reach your limit, Kai?"

With a hard gulp, Kaiya nodded.

"Boundless energy not part of the package, Dudette?" Mikey teased. He grinned at the child's slow blink then knelt as well to help her sit up.

"T—that's the fastest I've gotten tired," Kaiya panted, wiping her forehead against the sleeve of her T-shirt.

"How long does it usually take to wind ya?"

"Wind me?"

The Chūnin sniggered. "Tucker you out."

"Oh…Well, I don't get tired during recess. Except the one time I accidentally moved the jungle gym."

"You moved a jungle gym?"

"It's what Blaine was upset about that night," Hugh added.

"It was an accident!" Kaiya defended through a small, cracking voice. She sent a pointed look at Hugh then Mikey, clenching her shirt's hem. "I—I couldn't stop running and hit it. With my whole body. I didn't mean to break it…"

"The school's attributing the incident to faulty equipment," Hugh elaborated when Mikey's mouth grew slack. "Kaiya isn't being held accountable; however, Blaine—"

"Is considering her at fault," the mutant finished. As the detective nodded, Mikey snorted, running a hand down Kaiya's head. "Not much fun this past week, huh?" he asked, gentle like his touch.

She slowly shook her head. "D—Daddy wants me to be like b—before, but…I can't stop. I really, really can't."

"You just need practice, Kai." Mikey smiled, though the tremble below his hand cut through him.

"That's what I keep telling Blaine," Hugh said while sitting back on the grass.

"Well she can't ignore it. Don says he has trouble at times, too, and he isn't as affected as—"

"You don't have to tell _me_."

"I have an idea."

Hugh paused as the Chūnin flashed a smile that may not have translated through the night. "What kind?"

"What if we trained her? Ya know, in Ninjutsu?"

"You want her to be a ninja?"

Mikey almost chuckled at Kaiya's sharp intake of air. "It's a good way to channel one's potential. Their mind, this body, their spirit. It would help her find control in all aspects of her life. That doesn't mean she has to be a ninja, per say."

"But I want to." Kaiya interjected with a mild whine and full conviction; the essence practically saturated her Chi, compelling Michelangelo's hand to fall against her tense shoulder. "I—I want Mister Leonardo to teach me, though," she added in a whisper.

The mutant smiled grimly at her following sigh. "I don't know when he's coming back, Dudette."

"I don't care!"

"How about this?" Mikey leaned down so he could clearly see the gloss over the blonde's amber eyes and keep their focus on him. "Let me teach you things here and there until he does come. Then, we can both convince him to be your Sensei."

"Sen-say?"

"It means teacher, though…that could get confusing and weird for us. So you should probably call him Shishou."

"Shee-show?"

"It's an alternative. Won't get into details. Now, do we have a deal?" Mikey outstretched the hand he once kept on Kaiya, his smirk wide and his gaze imploring. Hesitantly, the girl's soft fingers slid across his palm. They were too little to wrap around his hand properly, so the mutant's grip swallowed them when he sealed their handshake.

"D—do you think I can do it?"

"Learn? Of course, Kai."

"No"—Kaiya's hand tightened, unwilling to let go—"be a hero. L—like Mister Leonardo."

' _She really admires you, Leo,_ ' Mikey thought. Her touch felt heated in his hand, almost biting, and he tugged for her attention.

"I'm sure you can be a hero too, Kaiya. It takes a lot of work and dedication. And, at times, pain. But if you really want to be one, you can do it. Personally, I think you have the heart for it."

"So do I," Hugh interjected. He stroked the girl's wavy hair once when she faced him then nodded. "Let me talk with your daddy. Meanwhile, you should do what he wants and talk with Doctor Vigue."

"She tells me my stories aren't real," Kaiya muttered.

"And your daddy doesn't want you to show her your gifts, either. But that's another part of being a hero."

"You can't understand right now," Mikey added. "That's fine. Just trust us. Okay?"

The child huffed, crossed her arms, and glanced away; however, she also nodded, rousing a smile across the Chūnin's wide mouth.

"Good. We'll start your first lesson next week."

"W—wait!" Kaiya stood up as soon as Michelangelo did. "Where are you going, Uncle Mikey?"

"Don't sound sad; I'll see you in a few."

"But…"

"Sorry, Kai. I'm meeting someone tonight. Big hero business. Understand?"

"Wish I could go," the blonde uttered while folding her arms again.

Mikey patted her head then sent Hugh a serious look. "Be careful on your way home. And if anything fishy happens with you-know-who, call?"

Hugh maybe felt like a child, yet thankfully offered a begrudging nod.

.

* * *

The first thing Michelangelo noticed was Starberry Girl's combat boot tapping below a broken lamp post. It accentuated his tardiness, so he flashed a smile when he met her by the chain link fence surrounding Lacio Circus. Unfortunately, it did little to lift her thin, downturned lips.

"If you had better plans, Figo, you could've called."

"And work alone? That's no fun."

"I've been here for nearly twenty minutes."

"Sorry; my last date ran longer than planned."

Hoshi paused before climbing the fence after Mikey. Straddling the top rail, the hero grinned downwards, praying his companion's curt snort meant more than simple annoyance.

"What date could you possibly find?" she questioned while jumping half-way up the fence.

Mikey watched the heroine lace her fingers through the chain, grip, and then rotate backwards over the top. She eased into a crouch beside him with the power of a gymnast, and the mutant tried to keep himself from eyeing her slender body longer than he should.

"Oh, I was with a little blonde," he answered, shrugging. He slipped off the fence then landed on the asphalt beyond. "Ya know the type. Wide-eyed. Fair-skinned."

"Sounds pretty," Hoshi retorted as she followed suit.

"I may have a weakness for blondes." It wasn't a total lie, and that showed in Michelangelo's smirk.

Hoshi seemed unimpressed by it. In fact, she sneered below her black eye mask. What'd that mean?

"Jealous?" the hero jested, heading towards the Big Tent in the near distance.

"You would be so lucky," Starberry countered with her own smirk. "I'm only thinking about how odd the blonde's tastes must be."

"Almost as odd as mine, honestly."

"I can see that."

Chuckling, Mikey shoved her bare shoulder then spun and began walking backwards. "She's young too," he added, just to see Hoshi's lips curl again. When they did, he grinned. "Relax. She's only seven. I'm starting to train her, and she's like a niece to me. That's all."

"Is that supposed to be comforting?" Starberry snapped. Her head bobbed because she scoffed so hard, and she crossed her thin arms, continuing their strange walk. "You think I would care if you had a real date?"

"Maybe."

"Whatever. You can do as you please; we're only partners in heroism."

"You mean we aren't at least friends?"

Hoshi halted. Not for long, but Mikey saw her faltered expression as a strong sign.

"I don't do so well with friends," she said, surprisingly grim. While she opened her mouth again—perhaps to elaborate—she shook her head then pointed ahead. "I'm here to help you with these kids. We might as well get to it while one's on a break."

An inward sigh was required for Michelangelo to turn. He glanced behind him at a section of two medium-sized tents, which emanated several unsavory scents. Their purposes were unknown since the hero strolled around their backsides; however, a familiar cage between them convinced him that he arrived at the right spot. Well, that and the so-called Were Girl curled in it.

"Poor thing," Mikey muttered.

Starberry Girl kept close to his side when he traveled through the tents' thick shadows. "W—what should we…do?"

"Comfort her. Get answers."

"But…what if we make things worse?"

"Do you have trouble comforting citizens?"

"It's a lot harder with children."

"Why? They're just like adults, only inexperienced."

"And super sensitive."

"How about this?" Mikey leaned towards Hoshi's ear, mere feet from the Were Girl's display. "You only say things you're comfortable with, and I'll lead."

The green-haired heroine huffed, yet agreed. The mutant sent her a grin then approached the cage. Rose didn't stir inside, not even when Mikey motioned for her attention. So he crouched in the space between the ten-foot tall cage and one tent and called out in a hiss,

"Hey, Rose!"

Rose's shag head jerked upright from her knees.

"To the left. Over here!"

Rigidly, Rose craned her neck. Mikey waved at her when their gazes connected, though her bright green eyes widened as she crawled to the cage's back left corner.

"What are you doing?" she questioned in a hushed tone.

"Uh, trying to talk with you?" the hero countered.

Rose flashed a dubious glare, returning to her curled position on the slab of metal. "Wh—why? Who are you?"

"You can call me…Titan, and this here"—Mike gestured to the heroine stationed beside him—"is Starberry Girl."

"Y—you're the one from the news, aren't you?"

Hoshi shrugged one shoulder under the Ware Girl's bright stare.

"Anyways. Why talk to me? You should be careful, you know? Ring Master does checks. I—if he catches you talking with me like this—"

"Oh, we won't be caught," Hoshi interjected. "At least, I won't."

"We want to know more about you," Mikey followed up. He sent Starberry a subtle smile, and she backed down, sitting on the asphalt.

"What more would anyone want to know about me?" Rose's tone sounded bleak and almost vindictive. Her tiny hands clenched her knees and twisted tuffs of her body hair as her shoulders hunched to her covered ears. "Everything anyone's ever wanted to know is engraved on a plaque in front of my cage."

Mikey shook his head. "I don't want to know what others have set _for_ you, Rose. I want to know who you are. What _you_ need."

"H—how do you know my name?"

"Don't be scared. We've noticed some weird treatment around here. And I can't help, well, helping. Sometimes helping includes snooping."

"You can't do anything for me."

"You think?"

Rose sighed—an action which upturned many hairs along her hands. "No one wants to help the Sideshow."

"We do." Kneeling forward, Mikey wished the young girl could see his soft stare, if only for a moment. "How old are you, Rose?"

"Eleven…"

"How long have you been with Lacio?"

"S—since I was six." It seemed painful to admit because Rose flinched.

"Do you want to spend the next five years here?"

Slowly, the preteen's hairy chin met her fingers.

"Thought so. You should give us a chance."

"I—I don't know."

Starberry stood up, though remained in the shadows as she pointed towards the Were Girl's cage. "You'd rather stay in a place like this? You don't have much to risk, so why not?"

"Hoshi"—Mikey caught the heroine's wrist—"I got this."

The young woman spun on her boot then rounded the mutant. He couldn't see her, yet got the distinct feeling that she pouted. ' _So impatient. I can see why she and Raph butt heads so much._ '

"Rose," he continued, "we're here to help. In any way we can."

"There's another person who said that too…"

Mikey smiled. "See? You're not alone. So what do you think?"

Rose stared for a long time. Or it felt like she did, anyhow. Hoshi stomped a foot from behind, and not long after the preteen nodded, as if broken from a trance with Mikey's mask.

"Y—you should go now, though," Rose said while casting a glance over her shoulder. The uninterested traffic of people before her cage had slowed through their conversation, which brought attention to how quiet the circus was growing. "We could've talked more if you came, like, twenty minutes ago. But it's closing time, and Ring Master…"

"We understand," Mikey replied, ignoring the pointed stare at the back of his head. "We'll be back in a few days then. Okay?"

She nodded and when the hero stood, her gaze focused behind him. "I…is she coming back too?"

"You got a problem with that?" the heroine retorted.

Mikey held her back as a man's familiar accent rung through the air. There was no more time to waste. He grabbed Hoshi's arm then headed for the fence line after flashing Rose a grin. Sure, the circumstances were kind of heavy, but he couldn't help the jolt of happiness when Starberry didn't fight for her arm back.

* * *

 **A/N:** Hoping some time this month, I can up my posts to three chapters a week. We'll see.


	20. Causes

**A/N:** Two chapters this week. Why? Because I want to.

 _WOLF_ \- Chocolate is miracle medicine. In fact, I think I want some now.

 _Sciencegal_ \- Kids, right? Adorable. Unless they're Cleo. ;)

Now, enjoy a Nia centered chapter. :)

* * *

 **Chapter 19:** **Causes**

New York's news always managed to piss Gavin off, yet he couldn't stop watching. In addition to informing him about Bishop's moves, it doubled as a distraction while Nia gathered her things into a duffle bag.

Beside him in their bed, Mia slept soundly. How? He didn't know. She was propped up in a seated position with her head lolled back so far, she snored. This was the sound Nia disturbed.

"I'm heading for work, Daddy."

He wasn't surprised by the lack of feeling in her tone, and replied just as listlessly, "Will you return?"

There was a pause then a sigh. "In a few days. Mama needed me because you stayed at work overnight—"

"Otherwise you wouldn't have come?" He still couldn't face her, his narrowed gaze fixed on May Field's joyous expression.

"Daddy—"

"You have a new family; I understand."

"No, you don't." The young woman shifted in Gavin's peripheral vision, stalking towards the foot of the king-size bed so her body blocked the television on the dresser. She meet Gavin's gaze with an impassive stare that riled pins and needles through her father and shook her head. "How many times must we go through this?" she asked in a small voice. "H—how many times do I have to say there doesn't need to be a distinction? We could be one family. We should be. But you won't have it."

"It isn't right," Gavin retorted.

"Why? Because of their…specialties?"

The redhead straightened in bed. "What has knowing them done for you? How many scars have you gained or nightmares have you waken from? Their kind can only bring badness, Nia."

"But they aren't bad."

"I acknowledge that."

Nia froze. Perhaps she had assumed he didn't approve of them as individuals. Or maybe she thought he hated them—especially Raphael—for having torn down the walls he'd helped her build around herself. Those were only partly truth, and the real reason roused heat in his blood.

"I admit: Bishop's discovery of you was my fault in some ways," Gavin continued. "I should've kept everything off the grid, no matter how hard. And the Hamatos did reunite us. But you could've left it as that. You had a chance to return to a normal life and—"

"I'm _not_ normal, Daddy," Nia interjected near a hiss. She swallowed hard and gestured strongly with her hand. "I never have been, and never will be. I—I'm not all human."

"Don't say such things."

"It's the truth! I'm a…a Halfling. And it wasn't until I came to terms with the fact that my chronic pain stopped."

"How long did the break last? Seems whether or not you accept the fact doesn't matter."

"That's because"—Nia's vision dropped, like her shoulders—"my Anemia…"

Gavin drew in a noisy breath so it caught his daughter's attention, yet he barely held it. "You're wasting blood. Stabilizing the IgRs is virtually impossible. I spent years studying them and know one thing for sure: without access to biological records of your"—he hesitated—"Languu heritage, fractionation will always follow."

"It's been done before."

"By whom? Bishop. And he obviously knows more about where you came from than any of us."

"Th—there was Lombardo, too."

While Nia's croak hurt, Gavin remained steady. "There's no point. Why give blood to a useless cause? After months, Donatello and his friends remain empty-handed. Meanwhile, Splinter's decaying. Your focus should be elsewhere."

"Like where?"

"A place where you can actually make a difference. Like at your mother's side."

The slowness of Nia's shaking head spoke volumes. Disbelief, loathing, and hurt fueled the action, stealing her breath until they left her in tears. "I _can_ make a difference," she whispered—an action barely heard over May Field's chatter. "Just like he did for me. I—I don't care if you don't believe. I do. So I'll give everything of myself if there's a chance of saving him."

"Nia." Gavin removed his glasses because he was unable to stand the condensation on their lenses from his labored breath. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he spoke downward rather than frontward. "Be realistic. You can't keep pushing your body like you have been. Understand your limits and just…support."

"That's exactly what I'm doing."

What use would there be in arguing any further? By the time Gavin cleaned then resettled his round spectacles on his face, Nia had already shouldered her overnight pack and headed for the bedroom door. She retained enough mind of Mia's slumber not to slam it, though Gavin felt the faint click was more impactful than anything else.

He stared at the door, heaving before a gentle touch against his neck twisted it around. "Mia?" He blinked when the brunette drew back her shaky hand. "How long have you been awake?"

"Long…enough," the woman replied, hoarse. She dotted the side of her drooling mouth with a used napkin, silencing her husband as her brown eyes zeroed in on his frown. "G—Gav…is this how you've been treating her?"

"Don't worry."

"I'm a mother. How can I not?"

"Concentrate on healing, Mi."

"Wh—what's gotten into you? Why are you…acting like this?"

"I said it's nothing."

"It's hardly 'nothing' if your own daughter won't say goodbye!"

"Heart rate, Mia," Gavin chided. He sent a quick glance towards the electrocardiogram set-up to monitor Mia's sleep, though its rising blood pressure and distressed cardiac cycles meant he shouldn't have done so.

"I'll be concerned with my heart when you tell me what's happened to yours."

If his stern looks were as effective on his wife as they were on his child, he would've maintained one until the brunette backed down. However, half a year had apparently buried memories of her counter glares, whose power prodded his chest like red-hot iron.

"You have the two of us, Gavin. Yet you're still so angry."

"And there's no justification for that, is there?" Shifting under the comforter, the redhead crossed his ankles and leaned against the headboard with no concern for his sudden Irish relapse. "The mentaller who tortured me, put me wife in a coma, and experimented on me daughter is being held as a city hero. The life I worked tooth and nail for was ripped from me hands. Then me only child wants to replace me with a bale of chancers. Yer right: it's a wonder I'm not singing praise."

Silence.

"Hey," Mia said softly. Her bony hand reached for her husband, but he didn't have the nerve to endure its trembling. "Classic, Gavin," she added when he retracted his arm, "always looking on the dark side. I know you strived hard for your Anders identity. I helped, remember? But…the important things you gained during it remain with you. Isn't that enough?"

"The three of us were enough. Nia won't settle for that anymore."

"She has friends."

"Friends who drag her into danger."

"I'm sure that's not true."

Narrowed, Gavin's eyes landed on his wife. "How would you know? You spent six months in a coma."

The happy lines around Mia's mouth deepened with her scowl, but that was unsurprising. He'd overstepped a well-known line, and when the short-haired brunette cleared her face of more saliva, the redhead glanced downwards.

"Sorry, Mi," he said in an undertone.

"I would gain back those months," Mia paused to slurp, "if possible."

"You don't want them. Trust me."

"If it meant I could understand more of where you're coming from"—another pause—"I'd go through everything you did."

She meant every word, and it required all of Gavin's energy to keep his fingers strong as they raised and traced her jawline. Her muscles tightened below his touch, so he lowered his hand before they both succumbed to tears.

"It's not the life I pictured," he said while clenching the comforter. "Not for her or me or you. We were doing fine before September."

"Life changes, Gav."

"Sometimes, for the worse. Since when were we not enough? Sh—she's running."

"Even if she was…think of what she's running towards."

"They'll only harm her in the end."

"Why would you say that?

"Because their kind is self-preserving. Secret families are like that. I know; I came from the Doyles. And the one time Keelan and I trusted outsiders…"

"Gav—"

"No! I'm more capable than the Hamatos realize and the job they want is mine. She's ours, not theirs. Even if she's too blinded by infatuation to see straight."

Mai remained quiet for a long moment. It was hard to tell from the brunette's expression if she wanted to cry or scream, but she gaped in surprise, words soft, "Do you know who you sound like?"

Of course he did; the strong Irish drawl invaded his mind before he could snarl at its insulting memory. ' _Ya banjaxed eejit! For feck's sake, ya belong to this sept. Act it!_ '

"This is different," Gavin whispered, throat tight.

"Not by much. Instead of seeking a suicide help line, Nia's running to another source who understands her."

"We understand her."

"Maybe we don't understand as much as we thought."

Mia reached for her husband across the bed. He caught her hand before it found his arm then took the napkin from her grasp so he could dab the defined lines around her parted lips. Tenderly, his thumb traced the chapped, pink skin and he studied them to keep himself free of the brunette's imploring stare.

"I'm sorry, Mia," he whispered. "It's dangerous with them. So I won't give up without a fight…even if I must turn into me Ole Man."

* * *

Nia didn't care who noticed her stress—not pedestrians, not the grocery clerk from lunch, or coworkers. Had Mellissa Heart been there to greet her at Warner-Frost's front desk, she likely would've blown the computer's circuits in unsaid retaliation. Since the receptionist was absent, the artist passed the posh lobby and headed straight for the staircase leading to the basement.

She'd repeated one line in her mind since leaving Columbus Square, and it motivated her as her green Converse stomped down one step after another. ' _I can help. Berry, Rose, Splinter—I can do something for them all._ '

Why would her father say those things? Did he really think she was that helpless?

' _No, Mama's said it's more than that. But if he doesn't explain, how am I supposed to understand?_ ' Sighing, Nia reached the stair base, eyes set on the dirty concrete below. ' _Hard to believe they both have such rich histories…and never talk about them…_ '

"Just die already, you ugly thing!"

A feminine voice—like sharp blades—cut into Nia, jerking her whole body sideways. She caught her balance with one foot, attention darting across the open basement. Her gaze spotted movement beyond the broken vanity Rose and Berry favored. For a moment, she feared the kids had been caught by a worker. But the noises were wrong.

Instead of grunts or whimpers, squealing sounded. Like a pig almost, yet with a strange lower ring through the cry. Nia couldn't deny the clear sense of distress, regardless of her confusion, and as the worker raised a splintered broom for another swing, the young woman strode forward.

"M—Miss Heart, what are you doing?" she asked the dark-haired beauty standing on top of a cardboard box.

Heart flipped her disarrayed hair over her hunched shoulder and gripped the broom tighter in her unsteady grasp. "I came down to this dust-infested place to find some old files, and this—this _thing_ attacked me."

"What thing?" Nia conquered another box pile then paused by the vanity that rattled.

"Coleman said he thought something was living down here, though I never thought it would be something like _this_."

Nia's brows drew close while she rounded the vanity. Then, her eyes widened.

Nestled in a tall corner was a creature she'd never seen before. Its size matched that of a Pomeranian with leathery skin and a pop belly that heaved in and out with panic under an armadillo-like shell. In ways it resembled a fat fish since its overbite of piranha teeth gave its head a gentle slope, although its short, cleft feet were clearly pig. Their hoofs scraped against the concrete as he squealed again, pushing himself further against the vanity to avoid another swing from Heart's broom.

"What are you doing?" Nia cried.

"What do you think?" Heart countered with a snarl. "Killing it!"

"Why?"

"It bit me."

"Where?"

The woman snorted then twisted her right leg to showcase her calf, which bled from six deep puncture wounds through her sheer stockings.

Nia cringed at the sight, yet Heart's subsequent swing left little room for pity. "It's just scared," the artist insisted, parrying the broom handle with her arm.

"Something like that is a disgrace." Heart jumped down from the box, heels clicking loudly. Her right leg nearly gave in under the impact, but she maintained her posture and shoved Nia so hard into an alley of old beds that a stray spring cut across her bicep.

The young woman hissed at the burn then struggled to sit up in a pillow pile while meeting Heart's narrowed blue eyes. "Is killing it the only option?"

"Have you seen it?" The beauty made a disgusted face. "It's an abomination."

"How so?"

"It unnatural."

Nia felt her gaze turn stony, like every inch of her from the inside out stiffened. She no longer cared about holding her tongue—not when Heart jeered at the little creature like her father often did with Raphael. "What does that have to do with anything, Miss Heart? It's alive."

The receptionist probed it with the blunt end of the broom, as if expecting it to lunge. "Animals are killed all the time, Brown. For food, sport, clothes, or simply because they're a pest. Think about it, no one goes to lengths to save a spider."

"I do."

The woman whipped her hair back again, shaking her head under Nia's hard stare. "Don't exaggerate, girl. Point is: there've been sightings of beasts all over the city. This must be one of those gross mutant threats Bishop's mentioned. Maybe if I kill it, I'll gain some leeway with my application."

"Wait"—Nia stumbled to her knees—"you applied for the EPF?"

"Yes. So I'm going to start with this!"

"Don't!"

Nia lunged forward. Her arms wrapped around Heart's legs, stretching her stockings, and the resulting imbalance forced the woman to stumble over Nia. Her weight hit like an anvil against the younger female's back, the broom jabbing Nia's side when Heart failed to stay upright with it as a brace. They met the ground in seconds, causing Nia to bit her tongue as Heart's knee forced it down.

"What's wrong with you, Brown?" the receptionist spat while rising to her heels.

Nia was silent when she did likewise, holding her tender side and grimacing at the metallic taste in her mouth. Their gazes connected like magnets—strong and hard to break when her teal eyes sought the creature.

"You've been nothing except trouble," Heart continued, snide. "Irma only has a soft spot for you because of your history. Otherwise, you wouldn't have enough credentials to work in this establishment."

"Excuse me?"

"Then again, it's not like art's real work. Our old pictures did just as well. Yet here you are, taking valued funding with a useless cause."

"My causes aren't useless!" Nia cried before she could rein in the lights or realize Gavin wasn't present.

"I only mentioned one," Heart countered.

Nia glanced away once the receptionist picked up the broom. Her lips puckered with their tremble, and forcing air through her nose felt more difficult than meeting Heart's gaze again.

"I'll find Coleman to get a cage," Heart noted before shoving the broom towards Nia. "Think you can handle keeping it in one spot?"

The artist stayed silent. She didn't nod or back down, but Heart's rolling eyes proved her disinterest. The receptionst huffed then gimped towards the staircase. Only when her heels faded upstairs did Nia move.

She tossed the broom away then knelt before the alley so she could look closer at the creature. It wheezed against the vanity's scarred drawer, its hooves tapping in beat with its shivers. She longed to pet it, although the moment she twitched the fat creature burst into a startling squeal.

"Hey," she called, troubled by the pure fear in her mind. "It's okay. I—I'm not like that lady. I won't hurt you. Promise."

The little beast quieted. Either because she spoke softly or because he was losing energy. One thing was certain, though: they were running out of time.

"I can help," Nia added as she shifted. "I'll take you somewhere you'll be safe. But you have to come with me."

Gradually, the creature's breathing slowed. He craned his head sideways like chickens did for a better view, and she smiled into the blackness of its eye. Its shape was that of an almond set deep beneath textured scales and wrinkles. The iris and pupil were impossible to distinguish, so Nia's only clue of its gaze was a feeling, which cause her to smile.

"Come on, y—you'll like us. Honest. You just gotta take that first step."

The beast flared its slit-like nostrils, baring the sharp teeth that protruded from its overbite.

"Please," Nia whispered. She dared reach towards him, slow. But when commotion sounded upstairs, she scooted closer. "If you don't come now, they'll kill you. I don't want that. Do you?"

With a snort, the creature eased his growl. His head tiled more, perhaps adjusting to the new angle. Then he stood. His round form trembled, his balance impaired, yet he approached Nia with minimal hesitation. And so she wrapped her arms around the being's grooved armor as soon as her fingers met his humped back.

* * *

 **A/N:** Gah, Gavin. So frustrating. Complain that he's a stale character, but it's all by design. Trust me. His process is just slower than the others...

And now Nia has a new friend. Blame _Duckie_ for that; she helped inspire me. LOL

Next up is " _Reboot_ ". Meanwhile, reviews make my day. ;)


	21. Reboot

**A/N:** Second chapter for this week, like I said. :P

 _D_ : Hey! Long time no review. I missed ya! Now let's see... ;)  
Splinter comment - yes, I loved writing it too, despite the circumstances. Splinter is just...well, love!  
In regards to Hugh, I'm glad you think so. It only felt natural to include his troubles, and he'll be tried more and more through the coming chapters.  
Don't worry; there's a REASON for Starberry's name. You get some insight about it in Chapter 31. Then a real explanation...at some point. Can't recall. XD  
Wish granted - you'll see Raph's, Mike's, and April's reactions in the last scene. :P

 _Sciencegal_ \- I really is. ROFL. Don't get me started on Gavin. *twitch*

 _WOLF_ \- I have a name picked, yes. We don't get it for a bit, though. And yes, my chocolate was amazing. ;)

* * *

 **Chapter 20:** **Reboot**

Bishop peered through the blue-tinted window of a sleek Stasis Pod. The container was far from special or unique; there were at least a dozen like it mounted along the same Chamber wall. However, its single occupant was a reminder of his visit.

' _To think something so small could toss cars like she did,_ ' the agent thought, eyeing the graceful yet marred features of the redhead within. ' _Amanda Hall…your pure determination for power is a drive I can use at a later date. If my acts go accordingly, that is._ '

"Agent Bishop."

Bishop smiled at the displeased voice. "Stockman. Long time no see."

"Cut the pleasantries. You know neither of us care for them."

Even so, the EPF leader maintained his grin when he rotated to meet the sour-faced African-American. "You have good news, I trust."

Stockman pinched the bridge of his large nose, sighing. "What I wouldn't do to go back to working with Doctor Gaertner."

"Bio-cybernetics _is_ your specialty, Stockman. I could think of no other to assign the task. Save for Marx or perhaps Jensen. However, they are otherwise occupied."

"Marx's missing. Probably dead."

"So you see my dilemma."

"Sir"—the doctor dug his hands into his lap coat's deep pockets—"what you require is akin to Gaertner waking Misses Anders from her coma."

"So you were unsuccessful?" While the smile remained, Bishop released every ounce of bitterness into it, and the second male shuffled from one boot to another.

"Of course not. Who do you think you're talking to?"

"Then what is the issue?"

"I can't guarantee he's fool-proof like Biosvert's…creatures. A human brain is much more complicated to wire."

"You did have the benefit of a test subject. The Hispanic."

"The crude one who calls himself Rojo? Right. But I didn't get to keep him long before Yahna got his hands on him."

"Yahna needed him for a special project. Besides, I had given you more than enough time."

"Says you."

Bishop's eyes narrowed behind his sunglasses, daring Stockman to take another step forward in the Chamber.

Wisely, the subordinate backed down by ducking his head and glancing towards the glowing Stasis Pods. "He's been rebooted, and no longer responds to the alias Hunt. For now."

"And the improvements I asked for?"

"Are in the works. A dry run will be required before he's ready for…employment. Must say, you're setting an odd stage, Sir."

Bishop chuckled. "Act One's not over yet, but the increased calls of strange activity has been pleasing."

"If they're Act One, is Hunt Act Two?"

"Depends on where his progress stands at that point. And call him Agent Zero from now on."

Stockman shrugged, nearing the Pods to peer inside their windows. "Not like I care about any of these peoples' names. Do you really plan to convert them all?"

"If we create a demand, we must prepare with the supply."

"Thought that's what the open admissions were all about."

"My new roaster of employees is mainly for show."

"What a surprise."

"But speaking of them"—Bishop glanced towards the Chamber's open exit—"I should make an appearance at the academy. There is one man named Kyle Erlich that seems desperate to help, especially with the Hub attacks."

"An outraged fan?" Stockman asked with a snigger.

"Or more. It is too early for assumptions, though he could provide the connection I need to Precinct Nineteen."

"Would he turn against the NYPD?"

Chin raised, Bishop made slow strides past Stockman. "Possibly. One way or another. Meanwhile, your updates should be more frequent."

"Understood," Stockman replied like a disgruntled teenager.

He said nothing else as his leader headed for the hall, and seeing as how Bishop lacked a reason for parting words, he simply waved before the Chamber's doors slid shut behind him.

* * *

Donatello winced when Melody inhaled. It was a sharp hiss through the otherwise silent Lab, and though the thick Polysporin he spread with his fingers must've irritated the blisters on Mel's bare back, they needed treated. So, biting his lip, he continued to apply the ointment across the bubbled burns at the base of her neck and along the backside of her left bicep. The cyborg released a shuddering breath when he pulled away yet still refused to speak.

"You know," Don started as he wiped his hands clean with a washcloth, "I'm happy you and Raph are doing more things together. But if he brings you home like this again, I'll punch him."

"They are minor wounds," Melody retorted, reaching for her discarded shirt.

The purple-masked mutant was quick to capture her robotic hand and pin it against the steel tabletop she sat on. "I'm serious, Melody," he said in an undertone.

"As am I."

"This isn't a paper cut or a scrape. These burns could get infected."

"Which is why we are tending them."

"You don't get these injuries from a boiler accident."

"Raphael and I already explained."

"How you tripped when he shoved you? Not likely. And on the same night a fireworks warehouse catches fire? You think I can't piece together such a simple puzzle?"

"I think you should not dwell on it."

"Mel!"

Donatello's grip tightened, capturing Mel's shirt along with her fingers. From behind, he drew them to her scarred stomach then slipped his other arm around her waist—so both of her hands were pressed along her buried power cell. He inhaled before resting his forehead against the back of her head, although his stomach turned at the Polysporin's tart scent.

"What were you doing there?" Don whispered.

Melody shifted. "Damn Mechanic—"

"I'm your husband. I _deserve_ to know."

There was a pause, where the young woman's shoulders tensed. Then, she sighed. "I had a meeting. It turned sour. That is all."

Don barely refrained from pulling back and scoffing. "This meeting wouldn't have had anything to do with Black Market antibiotics, would it?"

A pause.

"Of course."

"It's been three days, and what's happened?" Melody spat. Her raised head almost slammed into Donatello's nose when she craned her neck, and her hook-nose profile sneered. "Splinter can no longer hide his cough, and pneumonia has officially settled in. We can't treat his cancer without compromising his immune system. And curing the pneumonia will cost us valuable time since his recovery will take months. Months he does not have. And that's _with_ immediate treatment."

"April's been—"

"Do you not trust me?"

Donatello froze, gaze connected with that of his gray-eyed wife. "Of course."

"Then _believe_ me." She whispered. Croaked, really. Enough so that guilt tightened Donny's throat as she raised a hand to his cheek and continued. "We must step back to square one."

"Again?" Don whispered back—a hard, painful action.

"Let me do this, Damn Mechanic."

"I…Mel…" Don glanced aside, and his attention wasn't brought back until Melody's cool fingers slipped behind his neck then squeezed.

"I—I know what you're doing," she said in a wavering voice. "You're downplaying matters so they don't seem as bad. Protecting yourself. You can't deny it because I know what's like. I did the same thing with Mom. But…you can't shut out the ugly truth. Let it drive you instead."

"I _have_ been driven!" The genius' counter was strangled by a sob, one that strengthened his wife's grip when her eye narrowed.

"Not like you should be, Donatello. Splinter's case is critical. He's an elderly mutant near stage four Chondrosarcoma with acute pneumonia. And no matter how many times you wake up, it _won't_ change."

"So since I'm not meeting shady characters in old warehouses means I'm not doing everything I can?"

The cyborg stiffened under her husband's glare. "I never said that."

"You insinuated."

"We need a new method. I've told you several times, and you kept insisting on other ways. But guess what? We can't be hypothetical anymore. And we can't sit around, waiting for possibilities; we have to make them happen."

"Without Recro-12, his chances…are…they're..." Good thing Mel kept hold of Donny's neck; if it wasn't for her anchor, he was sure he'd fall over.

"I'm sorry," she muttered against his cheek. "I thought I had a grasp on Recro-12, so we could use it for short-term instances, like it was on me and the other cyborgs. But it's too unstable."

"The power cell could've helped. Except that went missing."

Mel audibly swallowed. "It was useless anyway. It needed charged in a special Oswald Cybernetics machine to prevent an overload."

"I could've found a way."

"Donatello"—head turned, Melody pushed her cheek closer to the mutant—"stop making excuses. Quit fighting me. I—I want to save his life too."

"I know…"

"Then let me do what you tell everyone I'm capable of."

Don didn't meet Mel's gaze. And could safely assume she wouldn't want him to, either. When the cyborg shifted her face so it rested in the crook of his neck, a warm wetness was smeared between her skin and his, so he wasn't surprised at her sniffle.

"Are we supposed to do a reboot this late?" he asked.

"Things have changed," she muttered in reply. "We need to think differently; see new angles, make new plans. C—can you do that with me, Donny?"

Speechlessness meant Donatello couldn't reply, even if he wanted to. As Melody sniffled again, the mutant urged her to turn so could gather her shaking form towards his plastron. It's the little comfort he needed to nod and remind himself that she was Splinter's best chance for survival.

* * *

April's hand captured Nia's shoulder when she swayed. "You okay?" the redhead asked, steadying the artist along the Lair's kitchen island.

"Y—yeah, just a bit lightheaded," Nia answered. She sucked in a noisy breath then resumed work on two tea cups.

"Are you sure? You look ready to collapse."

The younger female flashed a smile. "I'm tired, but…I want to have tea with Splinter before bed. This K'ekchi brew works wonders on my headaches. Shame it's almost gone."

"You and Splinter have been drinking a lot of it," muttered April. She held little interest in the topic change, honestly, and given that Nia fell silent while finishing her task, the women knew she didn't care much either.

' _She spends more time spacing out than she realizes_ ,' April thought with downturned lips. ' _The Anemia shows in many ways, yet she insists it isn't a big deal...then there was the incident at her work and father's place. She can't really be alright._ '

"Nia."

Nia's hand ceased the stirring of one cup.

"You haven't put any honey in there yet."

Jerking her head back, Nia blinked then glanced at both her sides. The island was void, save the cups, so April retrieved a small honey jar from an upper kitchen cabinet and set it beside an open container of loose tea leaves.

When glazed teal eyes met her, the redhead sighed, saying, "We're not taking samples this weekend."

"But last week's were—"

"Nia"—April squared her shoulders—"you should recover. We've taken so much already, and it's no good to have two sick family members."

"You aren't taking anything," Nia countered, low. "I'm giving it."

"You can't keep giving until there's nothing left."

"Why not?"

"You know why."

Nia shuffled under her older sister's glare.

"I know you want to help, but Recro-12 is difficult." April captured Nia's hand on the island and felt her stomach sink at its chill. "We could completely drain you, and still come up empty-handed. The IgRs just…won't activate."

"Which is frustrating; it's been done before."

"Lombardo managed it on a small-scale. Even then, the methods were crude and the bulk of her research failed. As for Bishop…"

Nia's fingers trembled. "It's stupid," she whispered. "I have the answers inside me. The IgRs, my—my stay with the EPF, and it's all useless."

"It's not useless, Ni."

"Yes, it is." Voice cracking, the artist knit her thick brows together. "If I could remember everything that happened during my capture, maybe I'd know how Bishop did it. He fixed his body, right? Th—that's what we need to do with Splinter-san. I was there. I _should_ know, but my brain won't tell me…"

"October's been returning to you in nightmare-ish bits since January. Everyone agrees: you shouldn't have to remember."

"Why? Because then I recall things like…like killing people?"

April drew her hand back.

"Yeah. I know about Jerry Miller and Andrew Helm."

"F—for how long?"

"Since the guys' birthday party. I had a dream. Raph confirmed it."

"You dreamt of…"

"I—I never did much for anyone else while growing up, April-san. I lacked the will, the drive, and the…growth. Now I have all three. A—and it hurts. My blood carries an answer we can't use. It's a tease. I _hate_ it."

"I sympathize. For all the knowledge I have—my connections and experience—I feel helpless. Splinter's such a hard case, and we're working with limited resources."

"Y—you still don't have antibiotics?"

"Gavin's delved some, but doing so has raised too many red flags inside Erudio. He can't get them, not without compromising his identity."

"And you have no leads?"

"I worked briefly at Stocktronics, which focused on cyber research, not Biology. We've thought about asking Olson."

"And?"

"I—I don't know. He's already done so much. It feels wrong expecting him t—to bend the law as well. It's ill-advised for doctors to assign prescriptions without documentation. He could lose his license."

"Still, he's our best chance. Shouldn't we at least try?"

April glanced towards Nia. "If he's willing to work with Melody to gain her license, it's likely he'll say yes."

"Exactly!"

"I'll talk with Donny and Splinter later. Meanwhile, you shouldn't get your hopes up. Olson's within his right to deny us."

"Wish Melody-chan had her license. Then she could just make the calls herself."

"Buys like that are expensive. Besides, she'd be subject to the same guidelines as Olson."

"Not if she got Donny-niichan to cover her tracks. Like in the movies. Wait…can't he do that for Olson?"

"Possibly. Again, we'd have to talk with Don. He and Melody are busy right now, so…"

"We—we'll catch them in a bit then. I—it is possible though, right?"

"How do you think people get around the Black Market?" April asked bleakly.

Nia gave an acknowledging nod then turned to the tea cups. After opening the honey jar, she dipped the stirring spoon into the amber goo, plopping it generously into the teas as chatter sounded from upstairs. April's eyes turned upwards, where Raphael and Michelangelo descended the stairs in a hurry.

Raph shoved Mikey and, with a scowl on his green face, neared the kitchen island. "That _thing_ ain't stayin' in our room," he all but snapped.

"You talking about the pig-thing Nia saved earlier?" April questioned. She smiled when Mikey rounded his older brother to lean on the counter top.

"Raphy here's just upset because our new pet doesn't like him," the jokester teased while jabbing the hothead with his protected elbow.

Immediately, golden eyes locked onto him. "It pissed on my dumbbells an' shredded my extra kneepads!"

"'It' is a he," Nia corrected, attending the teas. "And he's had a stressful day. Can't blame him for being antsy."

"He isn't the only one," Mikey remarked, gaze falling on Nia's unsteady hands.

"I'm fine, Mikey-niichan. My cover story worked, and Miss Heart didn't bring up the, uh, fight. I—I'm glad April-chan picked me up when she did, though. Don't know how much longer I could've kept the poor thing pinned behind the building."

"That 'poor thing's got teeth sharp enough ta cut through bone. It nearly took off Mike's hand when he fed it. An' ya want it ta stay wit' us?"

Nia returned Raph's glower with a stoic expression. "He deserves a chance, Huǒ. I'm the only one who he's let look him over, and the damage is terrible. He's starving, injured, terrified. There's also a brand on him."

"Brand?" Raphael echoed, eye ridges easing.

"On his inner thighs," the artist continued. "A circle with a bird inside. Probably an eagle."

"Like an EPF eagle?" Michelangelo questioned.

Nia nodded.

"That makes no sense," April noted while glancing towards the second-story hallway. "Why would the EPF brand something then set it loose? Doesn't that give away that they made it in the first place?"

"Maybe he was never meant to get away, like me," muttered Nia as she closed the honey and tea container.

"Ya think they made it for practice?" Raph ventured.

"Then it escaped before it was disposed?" added April.

Mikey grimaced, stooping his head. "Sounds like EPF protocol. But why? Is little Piggy a precursor to something worse? Maybe bigger?"

"Little piggy?"

The orange-masked mutant smiled at April. "Well, he has no name."

"We'll worry about a name later," Nia interjected. "For now, I need to get this to Splinter-san before he falls asleep."

The young woman stifled a yawn then picked up the tea cups. Their porcelain clattered against the countertop before her grip evened out, though no one said anything of the matter. April found Raphael's gaze once the artist rounded the island, and not one look was required for Nia's husband to follow her. She protested as they crossed the living room until they reached Splinter's shoji screen door, when Raph forced the cups from her hands.

"In a way, it's good he's a little forceful," Mikey said, watching the couple disappear into his father's bedroom.

April exhaled. "Ya know, while I don't often agree with Gavin, he had one thing right. At the rate she keeps giving blood and tissue, she'll damage herself."

"I don't want to think about that talk," the youngest Hamato said with a huff. "Can't believe what she told us when she came home."

"It's harsh, but true. The whole team will need a reboot, so to speak. Recro-12's a dead end and"—April's gaze drifted in the Lab's direction—"we'll all need a new direction to follow…"

* * *

 **A/N:** Nia and the little creature are kindered spirits, but he doesn't like Raph. XD

Next up is " _Down_ ", which is the teetering point for crap hitting the fan. We still have a ways to go before this ride is over, though. Meanwhile, review? :D


	22. Down

**A/N:** Update Tuesday. Enjoy Kaiya and Sophia. :P

 _Feather_! Classes are so evil. I missed you. :D I'll take a moment for a small spoiler to say "Little Piggy" isn't going anywhere (so Raph and him moments are inevitable) and that his name will be revealed at the end of the book. That said, Bishop has much planned, and not all if it will be revealed in just this book. ;)

 _WOLF_ \- ROFL Raph's gunna have to learn to share. ;)

 _Sciencegal_ \- Yeah, she tends to overcompensate for the life she's led up until she met the guys. Forget that she's a mama bird when it comes to her family. XD

* * *

 **Chapter 21:** **Down**

Dishes had never been Kaiya's favorite chore, but it beat going to bed. So while Mommy and Daddy read Megan a bedtime story, the wavy-haired girl scrubbed remnants of dinner off several plates in their kitchen sink. It was hard at some points because sometimes Mommy's food turned black and wouldn't come up no matter how hard Kaiya scraped it with a fork.

She frowned at the dirty spot through the warm shallow water, and then pressed down again with her sponge. A snap immediately followed, though the seven-year-old didn't realize the plate had cracked in half until red clouds tinted the sink water. They drew her attention to a broken section of plate protruding through her submerged hand.

It looked a lot like the spikes the fat doctor stuck through her months ago. So much so that her chest grew hot, convincing her she couldn't watch the cut any longer without screaming. All she saw was his face—smiling and dark—and the only way she thought she could get rid of him was to rip the glass out and forget it existed.

She fell backwards from the force she used, right off the edge of her stool to the tile floor. The glass piece shattered wherever she threw it yet the doctor's face remained as she crawled backwards to a wall.

It wasn't the plate. The blood reminded her. The color, the smell—it was what _he_ smelled like. All the time. And her throat closed when she glanced at her hurt palm.

The pale skin bubbled with a familiar burn and a yellow-green color mixed into the red. Kaiya tried keeping tears away, except it hurt so much. It hurt like her back did once. Like her leg when the fat doctor cut it. How could she make it stop? Only one way came to mind.

She closed her eyes with a shuddering breath then tucked her hand between her legs, singing, "Sakura, sakura. Yayoi no sora wa…"

The words were erratic, yet it felt wrong to stop. So Kaiya held onto the sound of Leonardo's voice from her memories and continued stronger.

" _Mi-watasu kagiri._

 _Kasumi ka kumo ka._

 _Nioi zo izuru._

 _Izaya, izaya._

 _Mini yukan…"_

Kaiya drew out the last sound, if only to remember how her voice blended alongside Leonardo and Mister Rupert. The song had been so comforting back then. Even now, her body didn't shake as bad. Still, it was also a reminder that her hero had left home a long time.

"Kaiya?"

Glancing up from her spot by a tall trashcan, Kaiya watched her father approach from the kitchen doorway.

"What happened?" he asked while helping her sit up further.

"I, uh, I'm sorry, Daddy," Kaiya whispered back. "I broke a plate."

"Were you hurt?"

The little blonde paused then lifted her hand. It was dirty from the blood, yet when Daddy cleared the red off her hand, there was no sign of the cut—not on one side or the other. His grip stayed strong as stared at her, although Kaiya didn't want to see his face. Thankfully, he didn't force her chin up.

"You should be more careful," is all he said before releasing her.

Her hand felt cold when he did, so she drew it close against her skull-print sweater and watched the man glance over the kitchen. A trail of broken plate pieces led to the seven-year-old from the sink. She hadn't noticed them until now, and grumbled another apology to her father.

"It's okay," he replied, heading to the closet for a broom. When he had it, he returned to the mess, asking, "So, what song were you singing?"

Kaiya's eyes focused on the broom's sweeping moves. "A—an old one called 'Sakura, Sakura'. It's Japanese."

"Where'd you learn it?"

"In the bad place with…with Mister Rupert. Leonardo taught it to us. He said his daddy taught him when he was scared…like we were."

"You—" Blaine paused sweeping. "You were scared just now?"

Kaiya glanced away.

"I thought talks with Doctor Vigue made you feel better."

"Sometimes they do. Other times…"

"Did you have a flashback?"

Nodding, Kaiya squeezed her hand tighter then sighed. "I—I do what Misses Vigue says, but they still happen. E—even at Doctor Olson's place. I know he won't hurt me. I know he wants to help. I just…don't like the white."

"Is there any way Daddy can make it better?"

Blaine had gathered most of the glass into a neat pile that he then swept into the dust pan. He sent a smile as he neared the trashcan at Kaiya's side, although watching the pieces fall into it left her nauseous. She scrambled upwards and decided to fix the stool she had stumbled from earlier.

"Kai?"

"I feel happy when I run," Kaiya said to the man behind her. He stayed quiet, but she was tired of waiting to ask. "It's what Uncle Hugh and Uncle Mikey let me do. Daddy, it's fun. Why won't you let me do it more often?"

"Kai"—the older blonde shook his head once the child turned around—"I don't want to see you unhappy. It hurts me too, you know?"

"So why?"

"Because of incidents like the jungle gym. There won't always be an excuse, Baby. And if some bad people notice you again, I would _never_ forgive myself." Daddy frowned an usual frown. He didn't seem annoyed or angry. He seemed…sad.

The girl focused on his brown-green eyes as he stepped forward, not quite understanding what made them glisten. "I—If Uncle Mikey and Leonardo train me then I could get away from the bad guys, right?"

"I heard about that idea from your Uncle Hugh last Tuesday," Daddy said while stopping.

"Isn't it a good one?" questioned Kaiya with a smile. Her father may've sighed, except he often did that before giving Mommy what she wanted. "Please, let me do it! I wanna be a hero too—like Mister Leonardo, Uncle Mikey and Uncle Hugh and...you."

"Kai—"

"You've told me and Meg you like helping people. That's why you're a police officer. Well, I want to help others too, Daddy."

He sighed again—this time longer and more controlled. The gloss over his eyes strengthened, yet the hand he placed on Kaiya's shoulder was strong. "You're so much like me. You know that?"

"Mommy says so," Kaiya replied, biting her lip.

"I make no promises, but"—the man paused to hunch one shoulder—"I'll talk with Mommy. Don't jump and down yet; there will be limitations."

"Why? If I get hurt, I'll just heal."

"That doesn't make things better. I don't care how fast you heal, you getting hurt in the first place hurts me. So don't get carried away, comprendé?"

Kaiya gave a quick nod, despite her want to protest. Daddy grinned in return then kissed her forehead before putting the broom away. Really, there was more she wanted to talk about—like when her next meeting with Uncle Mikey would be or if she'd ever get to visit Miss Nia again.

After all, the lady said she wasn't normal either. Kaiya wanted to know what that meant...

* * *

Sophia didn't trust Sarah to stay upright. The dark-haired artist had been swaying around Warner-Frost Services for the last half hour, and the building's basement had knocked her off balance twice with its clutter obstacles. Still, she bypassed every social worker and refused to relax, which left Sophia with little choice in how to spend her afternoon.

"So you knew about the little guy?" Sarah asked Berry behind the vanity.

The boy bobbed his large head, sending a sidelong glance towards Rose in an old armchair.

"We have no idea where he came from," the hairy girl added. "H—he was here before we started coming. Tried feeding him a few times, but he'd never take anything. Not unless we left."

"Is he your pet?"

Berry snorted and drew his eyes back to Sarah. "Yeah, right. The thing tried to _eat_ me. I don't think it likes people."

"He's just scared to trust," said Sarah in an undertone.

"Seems like you understand how that feels," Sophia interjected. She kicked her legs from her seat on a tall pile of boxes that she used as a lookout post and met the artist's eyes for a moment. "Nessun problema, Calza. I get it. So, what'd you do with it?"

"Took him home. M—my husband isn't fond of him, but my brother makes it his life goal to coax frightened things out of their shell…"

"It let you touch it?" Rose questioned.

"He had no choice," Sarah answered with a sigh. "Miss Heart wanted him dead. She wanted to use him as a pass into the EPF. I—I couldn't have that. He doesn't deserve to be killed for what he is. None of us do."

"Us?" Sophia raised an eyebrow.

Sarah didn't look up and rubbed a hand over a thin bandage around her bicep. "I told you I have a secret. W—we've only known about each other for a few days, but please trust me. I've been hunted, stolen, harvested, and all for the same reason you two hide: because I'm not seen as human. Least, not by some."

"Why is that?" Sophia couldn't help speaking before the others, and when she earned the pale young woman's attention, the haunted fear behind her teal eyes was glaring.

' _Don't tell me she's part mutant. Or something else..._ '

"Y—you don't look like a person who would be hunted," Rose noted after a pause.

"Everything different about me is on the inside, mostly," Sarah replied. Her hand clenched her bicep tighter as she glanced between the kids. "It isn't anything like long bones or hair, I'll admit that. But I know what it's like to wish you were something else. To feel stuck, alone. To see others your age and think 'Why can't I be that happy?'

"But it turns out you can be. While scary, you should trust those willing to help."

"We have three people we trust," Barry retorted, jabbing a 'forked' hand in Sarah's direction.

He gained Rose's attention and her distressed hairs swayed when she nodded. "Zebb, Ulla, and Unna—they'll get us out."

"Who are they?"

"The Man Without Pain and the Two-Headed Nightingale." Stiffening, Sophia blanched at the imploring sets of eyes on her. "Che cosa? I did research."

"Th—they're like our parents," Rose admitted. She hesitated under Barry's glare, but then leaned towards him, speaking in a hushed tone, "Titan's right. I—I don't want to be with Lacio anymore, and if people keep wanting to help, shouldn't we let them?"

"They're norms, Rose; what do they know?"

"More than a couple of kids would expect," Sophia snapped. There was a mile-long list she could bring up. Only problem? A need for discretion.

"Oh, yeah?" Barry challenged.

Sophia almost retorted, but then Sarah stood, swaying while she passed the box tower the blonde occupied. "Wh—why not tell us a little about yourselves?"

"Why?" Barry countered with a dubious gaze.

"Trust is built by sharing." Halting, the artist crouched beside the vanity (though Sophia suspected it was an unwilling action). "So if at any time it seems like we don't care what you have to say, t—then you have a reason not to believe us."

"And you'll leave us alone?"

"You won't have many more chances, Bimbetto," Sophia told Barry. "They'll be sealing off this basement in a few days. Besides, isn't Lacio Circus migrating again?"

The preteens grew tense, their gazes connecting over the side-turned sofa between them.

"How would you know that?"

Sophia faced Sarah. "News, Calza. Besides, Miss Heart complained about the new project the whole time we stood in line for coffee at the lobby."

"Did she?"

"She was upset with you for not replying."

"I—I don't remember…"

The blonde sighed then ruffled her blunt bangs with her fingers. "It's a wonder you made it here without venturing into traffic," she muttered.

"Not like it matters," Barry added. "Zebb's going to make things better before then."

"What's that mean, Bimbetto?"

"Stop calling me that, weirdo!"

" _I'm_ the weirdo?" With a light scoff, Sophia shared a look with Sarah.

The artist didn't seem so pleased. In fact, she looked paler than usual, and when she rapidly blinked over her shoulder, Sophia feared she'd fall over. So she slipped off the boxes, landing on an end table. Its broken leg caved under her weight, yet the falling motion felt natural to her and she landed by Sarah without any loss of balance.

"Are you sure we don't need to call anyone, Calza?" she questioned.

Though Sarah shook her head, she had to brace her hip against the vanity when she swayed.

Sophia took another step forward and reached towards her arm. "This is starting to get real bad. Let's get you upstairs."

"I said I"—Sarah heaved then blinked again—"I'm fine. Just…stay away."

"If I stay away, you're going to make friends with the floor. So will you let me—"

Sophia drew her hand back. It wasn't by choice; it was an invisible force that hit her like a strong gust of wind. Severe prickling left her body shaking against several boxes, but worse than that, her chest burned. She meant to remove her necklace—the stone that acted weird only around Sarah. Except it wouldn't budge from her skin, like the heat cemented it between her small breasts.

' _What the hell?_ '

"M—Miss Brown?"

Rose's voice roused enough sense to bring Sophia's attention upwards. Under the basement's flickering lights, Sarah tensed. She stared forward, though no recognition lit her eyes. They were bland, wide, and soon rolled back as the artist's body collapsed.

* * *

 **A/N:** Things just get worse from here on out. And yeah, we do lose Nia's POV for...a while... _


	23. Connection

**A/N:** Everyone misses Leo. Readers, cast, and author alike. *sigh* Moving on.

 _Feather_ : Yea! It's still a big work in progress, so if you have any song ideas or suggestions, feel free to bring them up. :) Meanwhile, revel in the many questions. They shall be answered. Eventually. *cackles*

* * *

 **Chapter 22:** **Connection**

If looks could set things on fire, the entire garage would've been engulfed by flames. Raphael's glare had met everything under the low-rise ceiling, and its intensity traveled through his voice. "What do ya mean ya won't say?" he asked into his Shell Cell.

Gavin sighed on the other end, though it sounded more like an annoyed huff. "I've already given you a courtesy call informing you of what happened during her work shift."

"Yeah, an hour after she didn't show at our meetin' spot."

"Why does it not suffice?"

"Maybe 'cuz I wanna _see_ her?"

"Wouldn't that be unwise? Hospitals are dangerous to visit for your…kind."

"Don't act like ya give a shit, Anders," Raph countered, low. "This is all in yer interest."

"Actually, this is in my daughter's interest." When Gavin paused, a subtle snort sounded. "Say what you will about her time with me, but I tried keeping her away from hospitals—not in them."

"This ain't our fault. She—"

"Has been admitted twice for your sakes. One of which times was meant to prove something that she never should've thought she had to."

"I realize that now," Raphael mumbled. Memories of his wife sitting in a hospital bed—her wrist and head bandaged—struck him so deep, his glare faltered. It returned once Gavin shuffled over the line, though; the mutant could practically sense distrust emanating off his phone.

"She's been in more danger with the Hamato clan in nearly a year than she's ever been in seventeen years with me and Mia. As a father, how would you feel?"

Raph paused at the thought before frowning. "Wouldn't know the first thing a father would feel. It ain't like I got enough hope ta entertain the idea, but…we care too. An' we do our best ta keep her safe."

"You mean _after_ your troubles endanger her?"

"Hey, it was yer research that led Bishop ta her at the start!"

"How about since then? She could've lived a new life as Sarah Brown, away from Bishop's eyes and free of the pain that's plagued her for most of her life. Yet she chose to stay in the city. For you Hamatos.

"I thought it would end with the heartbreak you brought on her last winter. Lord knows she cried enough to flood the Earth a second time. Then feck me, she gave you another chance."

' _Feck? Who the hell says feck?_ '

"Now that chance has led here, Raphael." Though Gavin continued with the same point, his somewhat dwindled rage softened his tone. "I've kept quiet while watching Anemia overcome my child because Mia had also given me a second chance. But at least I didn't waste it. I never let her put herself in danger, and kept her far away from my demons. I _never_ endangered her—especially not for my own sake."

"Ya got no idea how many times I've tried talkin' her out'a givin' blood 'n shit!" Raphael bellowed. He knew if he squeezed his cell any more, it'd crack. However, the tight grip was the only thing keeping his anger contained. "We've been tryin' 'n tryin'. But she wouldn't give in. I blame that stubbornness on ya."

"Did she hold you at gun point, demand you take blood? Otherwise, you could've stopped her."

"Anders—"

"I've seen enough harm done to my clan. I won't stand for more!"

"She's our clan too!"

"Like hell she is, you fecking gobshite." Gavin's words were low with a strange, southern-like drawl to them. Raph had only recently noticed the change whenever the redhead surpassed lividness, and it was how he knew the man's continuation wouldn't be in his favor. "I won't reveal the name of the hospital."

"Kusokurae, Anders," Raphael spat in return. His Shell Cell crackled by his ear, damaging the connection, so he screamed over the following static. "She's _my_ wife; I've got every right ta see her!"

There was a tense pause as the reveal sunk into the redhead's mind. Raph cursed his slip in seconds, yet a part of him wanted to finally flaunt the truth. No matter what Gavin did or thought, he couldn't annul the couple's vows or weaken the connection they shared. They had endured too much crap—especially for the sake of each other—and knowing Nia would also fight for them ironed her husband's tone.

"Ya heard me, Anders."

"I see no ring on her finger, Hamato."

"I'm still savin' up for the rings."

Gavin scoffed. "Without a job, what can you expect to afford?"

"I've got ways."

"Not with her. Not anymore."

"We're married, dammit!"

"There are no ways she can truly be married to you. Who sanctioned it? Were there witnesses?"

Raphael glanced at the garage floor, his trembling form threatening his cell phone further.

"See? It's not real. None of this has been. So wake up. If you care for Nia, know what's best. Leave her out of your dangerous lives like I did for Mia. Goodbye, _Sir_."

Raphael didn't hear the click that signified Gavin ending the call; he'd already tossed his Shell Cell towards a dilapidated subway car rotting on the unused train tracks. It met a damaged window, yet Raph's heaving breaths silenced its complete shattering as he barreled forward.

' _Ya selfish son of a bitch, Gavin!_ ' he thought while punching the car's metallic side. ' _Just ya wait; the moment Nia wakes up, I'll be her first call…An' she will get up. It won't be a sleep like her mom's. It won't…_ '

The hothead snarled then punched the car again, denting it. ' _Why did she keep insistin'? Wh—what if the_ _seizure_ _was the start 'a somethin' worse 'cuz 'a the Anemia? What if…what if he takes her away for real, forces her ta relocate? What if she really can't make it back…?_ '

The idea was as frightening as Splinter dying. It burned Raph's insides and left his eyes stinging. Just the thought of his wife's shy smile made him damn her father. And his fists repeatedly met the subway car until they bled

.

* * *

Michelangelo admitted he was distracted. It'd earned him two missteps already, so he shook his head to keep focused on Starberry Girl.

"Problems, Figo?" the heroine asked. She flashed a smirk from her perch on Lacio Circus' perimeter fence, which fell once she landed in the shady area beyond it.

Mikey's hand outstretched to catch her shoulder, though her slender form instantly straightened, cutting short their connection.

"To touch a woman without permission is highly inappropriate," Hoshi noted with a tinge of play.

Mikey couldn't help noticing how her crossing arms was a ruse to rub her chest. "Are you hurt?"

"Just burnt a little."

"From what? Why wasn't I there?"

"Tranquillo." The impish smirk returned as she sauntered by the hero. "It just needs a little more salve."

"Do you have any with you?"

Tossing a look over her shoulder, Starberry snorted. "It can wait. Why so worried?"

"Guess I'm a little sensitive right now." Scratch that; he knew he was. And he felt incapable of smiling while following his partner around the circus' outskirts. "My sister was hurt today."

"The one you're doing research for?"

Mikey nodded, although he stuck close to the heroine's heels. "She collapsed at work, and, well, we don't know many details."

"Work?" Starberry's echo sounded reminiscent and her thin lips pursed when she rounded a tent and faced him. "Why'd she collapse?"

"We don't know much more than that," the mutant admitted with a heavy heart.

"Why not?"

"Her father doesn't want us to see her."

Hoshi raised an eyebrow. Mikey didn't see it because of her eye mask, but he sensed it.

"She's my brother's wife. And her father…isn't fond of her choice."

"But to deny you details? That's harsh."

"There's more to it."

"I see. And now the whole situation makes you want to baby me?"

"What? No. You're capable. I just—uh, uh—ei!"

Michelangelo yelped. Not in pain, but surprise. A force had met his plastron, knocking him on his carapace, and he caught a glimpse of pale limbs like white snakes uncurling from his body. The assailant recoiled before the hero jumped to his feet. By then, Starberry Girl held the butt of her staff at his attacker's throat.

"Wait," Mikey interjected. "He's a kid!"

"Who made the first move," Hoshi countered. She sounded more severe than necessary, and seemed to realize this when she met Mikey's mask.

"Let him explain," the mutant said while Hoshi retracted her weapon.

"Me? _You're_ the trespassers!"

Michelangelo held his hands up in surrender then grinned at the dark eyes boring into him. His friendly sign did little to ease the boy's tenseness. At least, Mikey felt he was a child. His head was bloated compared to the proportion of his shoulders, and his body's remainder looked to have been stretched by some medieval torture device. However, his face held a youthful appearance, meant for one no older than thirteen.

"Got enough to stare at?" the dark-haired boy spat.

"I'm not gawking," Mikey said gently.

"Whatever. Just get out; the circus is closed tonight and these are private quarters."

"Is that so?" Glancing around, the hero noted that the trio stood in a long alley of tents, whose path was unlit and barely detectable since the crescent moon hid behind partial cloud cover.

The kid growled when Mikey's attention landed on him again, and he shook an arm that ended in a claw-like hand. "I know why you're here, Titan. Forget it. You'll only get Rose in trouble with Ringmaster."

"What's your name?"

"Don't change the subject!"

"Barry, what's going on?"

The long kid sighed in annoyance, rising from the asphalt as two figures joined the group. Mikey was surprised by how Barry reached his height, but not by who exited a slender tent towards the side; the heavily tattooed man and conjoined women were familiar faces who'd already proven their tenderness towards children.

"These are the guys Rose was talking about, Zebb," Barry said, chin up.

"Calm down, Barry," Ulla soothed. Well, Mikey thought it was Ulla. She was the twin on the right…right?

"We know you're still upset about what happened at Warner-Frost," the second twin added while lifting a left hand to his head. She combed his thick bangs tenderly, so Barry glanced away.

"I didn't want the lady meddling, but…I didn't want her hurt either."

"You—" Mikey swallowed with great difficulty. "You saw someone hurt today?"

Barry huffed, yet thankfully met the hero's gaze. "Some lady's been digging into our business at a…place we used to visit. And something weird happened."

"Like what?"

"She was talking then just…stopped. I—I think it was a seizure. She got really still then her eyes rolled backwards and she started shaking. She fell over, hit her head on a sofa or a box or—"

"An end table," Hoshi muttered.

Mikey's eye ridges furrowed when he glanced at her. He wanted to question how she knew, except Barry continued after shrugging his little shoulders.

"I think she was bleeding, but I—I couldn't tell. My priority was getting Rose out of there because the blonde was making too much noise."

"Blonde?"

"The volunteer girl. She"—Barry sent Zebb a sheepish look—"she was there too…"

"If another adult was present, and you weren't going to get help, maybe she had no choice," Starberry added.

"Adult?" Barry folded his arms. "Doubt it; she hardly looks older than me."

"Oh?" Hoshi flashed a smile—the kind Don showed whenever he prepared for payback from one of Mikey's pranks.

"It doesn't matter," Zebb interjected. "Neither of you are ever going back there. I know Rose wants to know if the lady's okay, but it's too dangerous now."

"Speaking of, didn't she want to see you?" A twin asked Barry.

"Probably to scold me, Unna."

The middle-aged blonde tucked a few hairs behind the boy's ear and smiled alongside her twin. "Can you blame her for being disappointed?"

"All she's ever wanted is to make friends," Ulla finished.

Barry frowned, as if the thought filled him with guilt. Still, he stayed quiet and nodded towards his circus brethren. They watched him leave down another alley on their right then set their sights on the hero.

"Hello," Michelangelo told Zebb with a weak wave.

"You again," the beefy man replied, flat.

"Still doing research?" Ulla and Unna asked in unison.

Mikey sent them a nervous grin when they crossed their three arms together. "About that—"

"We aren't some project to be put in a paper," Zebb interjected.

"So we'd appreciated it if you stayed away from our kids," Ulla and Unna added.

"We don't mean any harm," Mikey said, sending Starberry a quick glance.

"Just being here is harm enough."

"Ulla, right?" The hero waited for the right twin to nod. "We talked with Rose three days ago. We told her we'd come back and help."

"An admirable thought," Zebb noted, "but there's nothing you can do. We're bound to this place because of money and social issues. You can't alleviate that, can you?"

Mikey grimaced, yet fought a frown. "There gotta be something. Barry and Rose are miserable and—"

"We're aware." Zebb cut in with a ferocity that expanded his muscles and tribal tattoos. Unna brushed the back of her hand against his large bicep, and soon his body deflated like a calmed puffer fish. "We couldn't offer them happiness here, merely survival," the tanned man continued.

"When we met Rose while traveling towards New Delhi, she was named Aja. Do you know what that means?"

Mikey shared a look with Hoshi before shaking his head at Unna.

"It means 'goat'. And her parents were not shy about telling her why. 'I have given birth to an animal child; I must be cursed with this goat,' her mother would say. Rose was sent to her by her god, though, so she would not kill her. But those in Gauri Phanta treated her like livestock. She—" Unna's voice wavered as she sought breath.

"She would've died there, near the outskirts of Nepal," Ulla added. "We offered her food and shelter in exchange of exploiting her condition. If Ringmaster is happy, we have that much at least."

"People can't go on like that without burning out."

The three circus workers met Starberry's hard stare evenly, their hands intertwined. "Believe us, we know," they all said in drear tones.

"I was nearly arrested for assaulting Barry's superficial brother when we returned to Sacramento last year."

"Zebb's charges were dropped, but"—Ulla and Unna glanced at one another—"it severed any chance of him going home."

"Not like he wanted to," Zebb noted with a subtle growl. "He'd rather strangers call him 'Lobster Boy' instead of family…"

"Were all of you raised in such terrible conditions?" Mikey asked, his stomach sour.

"Some more so than others," Zebb answered lowly. His gaze drifted to Ulla and Unna until they sensed it and their clenched hands shook as he squared his super wide shoulders. "That's all in the past. Now, we look for the future. When Rose joined us, it was like the last piece of a puzzle had come together. She abandoned her first name in favor of something beautiful, so we must as well."

"I thought you said there was nothing we could do."

Zebb's head shook. "There's nothing _you_ can do, Titan. This mission is mine."

"Got a plan, Muscoli?" Starberry questioned with a huff.

Zebb's stoniness was beginning to remind Michelangelo of Melody, and he half expected a dry comeback from the man. Instead, Zebb pulled Ulla and Unna closer, as if their nearness kept him focused. His severe face glossed over the duo one last time. Then, he guided the blondes away, saying,

"If you really want to help, go back to saving your city. Those bombings haven't gotten any better, and I don't want to face a war zone when we leave."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Hoshi cried behind them. It was too late, though; they'd retreated down the path, away from the tent they'd emerged from. "What's with these guys? It's like Palermo all over again."

"What happened in Palermo?" Mikey stiffened when he received a glare. "Okay, dropping the subject. Now what?"

"Now we head home. I have someone to meet. You're lucky I squeezed in this much time."

"What kind of someone?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?"

He really would. Saying that would make him sound pitiful though, wouldn't it?

"Buona notte, Figo. I'll be in touch."

"Oh, Hoshi!" Mikey called as the heroine turned. "Take care of that burn, okay?"

Starberry sent a dirty look at first. But then it morphed into a sly grin. And he swore she withheld a laugh before disappearing into Lacio's sea of tents.

* * *

Hun thumbed several glass bottles inside an open briefcase. They were no taller than three inches, recessed into spots designed for their shape in a sheet of foam, and he twirled as he considered tossing his phone aside.

"I expected your man to be here already," said a snide voice on the other end.

"You aren't the only appointment Pierce has to attend tonight, Nikt," Hun retorted, eyeing the boring grout lines of his cement office.

"But unlike that child, I also need to keep up appearances. It was hard enough acquiring these fingerprints and I can't wait forever while everyone else thinks I'm at lunch."

"Little late for lunch, isn't it?"

"Not for night owls."

Hun chuckled—a curt action. "You sound as if you fear being caught. Yet you approached me with our deal."

"A deal which must be handled with more care than late meetings. While I may not be high-profile, I still have connections to maintain."

"These are the same connections you're trying to frame?"

Nikt paused then inhaled loudly. "Can't you do more than Hub attacks by now? I've given you everything you need—hair, clothes, motive, and now fingerprints."

"Do you want this done right or fast?" Hun rolled his eyes when he pictured the dealer's unimpressive glare—like the fool's pitiful physic could instill any kind of fear in the King of Dragons. "You listen to me: we'll deliver as soon as you acquire in-depth information on my soldiers. Not a moment before. Understand?"

"Yes," Nikt answered, begrudging.

"Wait for Pierce. He's checking in on two people growing close to your precinct, so he shouldn't be far. Meanwhile, don't ever call this number again."

The gangster hung up without warning. Nikt didn't deserve any and Hun was convinced if he withstood any more whining, he'd end the whole deal by killing the man. ' _Generally, I'd be amused at the idea of a Blue Pig sabotaging another, but Nikt pushes my patience's boundaries…_ '

He was a busy man, after all, troubled with many matters. Since Purple Dragon numbers were thin, a certain approach was required to expand his territory while safeguarding the productivity of his revenue. This included a new screening process for members—to keep them on the right side.

' _Kanker believed he could get away with his side dealings. If I knew the Forty-Fours had an ounce of honor for their members, I'd use that dirty associate as leverage. But their head is like me, all business. So they'll rot in chains until I have a use for them._ '

Hun slipped his fingers behind a bottle to remove it from its home. Bending his elbow, he drew it close, studying the clear liquid inside.

' _Melody Gray. For you to deal with us again must mean something dire. Has something happened that warrants antibiotics and steroids? If that's the case, I should keep these around for my own cyborgs, should something more than ion discharging be needed. What a use it's been having a doctor on the team._ '

The blonde smiled when he thought of the PD's latest addition. But it didn't last long before he remembered why they had kidnapped her.

' _Switchblade is getting better. Doctor Jensen will grow used to the new arrangements in time. We've gone too long without a health care plan, and I can't take any risks with my cyborgs now that Black Lotus is gone…_ '

Hun sighed then squeezed the bottle in his hand as he swiveled his office chair. Glaring through the window, he tensed his jaw, and looked over the land he longed to rule.

' _Soon_ ,' he thought with a sneer. ' _I'll destroy those damn Forty-Fours and with no more competition, I'll expand. I just need a little more time…_ '

.

* * *

 **A/N:** Trouble's brewing. Don't worry; we'll get some action pretty soon. *evil grin* Next up is " _Place_ ", which is all about cyborgs and cops. :D


	24. Place

**A/N:** Little angst before the storm's first wave hits. ;)

.

* * *

 **Chapter 23:** **Place**

May's late month weather was numbed by strong gales at over a thousand feet high on the New York Times Building. This worked in Melody's favor, given that they eased the cyborg's heated flesh whenever they whipped through the safety glass walls surrounding her, and she needn't ask her companions if they felt likewise. Their subtle smiles beside her spoke volumes, though now was not a time for them in her eyes.

"Why have you called me here?" Melody questioned without facing Sven or Tabitha.

"Why so bitter?" Tabitha shot back.

"My family has had a very stressful last eight hours." The half-blonde tried to keep a tremble for her tone, yet failed when she lifted her chin towards the hazy blue horizon. "I came to meet you at four in the morning, however, because you said it was urgent."

"If we didn't, you wouldn't have come, right?"

"Tabi," Sven interjected coolly as the Nubian huffed.

"Don't scold me, Sven," she spat. Then, her hand twisted Melody's flesh shoulder, drawing the older cyborg's gaze to her large-lip pout. "Mel, we only get to see you when we need our ions discharged. Even then, it's just a few hours. It's nothing like before…Black Lotus."

Melody swallowed thickly, hating how bitter the organization sounded in her ear. "Many things have changed since then, Tabitha."

"And not all of them for the better, huh?"

Mel watched the slender teen cross her arms and twirl towards the glass barrier beside them. "I do not follow your reasoning," the eldest said with a sigh.

"Sven?" Tabitha didn't regard their male friend, but the address drew Melody's attention beyond the dark-skinned cyborg.

Sven's goggle-like eyes glanced from Tabi's backside to Melody then brightened when the carrot top inhaled. "Do you remember our talk in March?"

"When you stole me from the Farmhouse?" Mel focused on Sven's orange gaze, furrowing her only brow. "Of course I do. We designed a weekly schedule for your…check-ups."

"You know that wasn't all," Tabi snapped over her shoulder. Still, like a young child, she wouldn't turn away from the cityscape view.

"You've always had a reason, Melody," the male said in an undertone—almost as if he was scared to admit it. "Or at least a goal. At the Junkyard and Baker's you were always…the reliable one. You watched over people; practically forced medical advice on them."

Melody blinked. "They ought to be mindful. But what is this really about?"

"A place!" The impatient Nubian cut in with a snide scoff and whirled. Deep rumbles from her activated rockets captured the older cyborg's gaze, yet they cut off in seconds, leaving the teen to stumble into a stalk.

"Tabitha—"

"No, Mel"—Tabi frowned as she halted on the roof—"it's not fair. The three of us had each other. We were the only ones we could trust, and if anything else, at least we could accept one another. But now you have a new family. You have a place there and, honestly?" The young woman flashed a grim smile of white teeth. "I'm jealous."

"I wasn't the only one to gain after Black Lotus. Both of you got your families back."

"It's not the same," Sven added, dour.

Tabitha nodded towards him, dark eyes glistening. "Our parents took us in. They regret how they treated us. That was _all_ we ever wanted. And now…"

"It seems pointless, like _this_."

"This?" echoed Mel—a careful, soft action. Sven met her stare, yet Tabitha gained attention by sniffling.

The slender cyborg flared her wide nose when Melody faced her, her form trembling like her voice. "You can't exactly apply for a job, go to school, or even ask someone out on a casual date when you have robotic limbs. Trust me, I've tried."

"I warned her against it," Sven noted before Mel spoke up. "But you know Tabi."

"It made me realize something," Tabitha continued quite loudly. "We survived neglect, fights, the streets, even Black Lotus. What do we have to show for it? The only thing we strove for is still out of reach. We have no place. So long as we're _this_ different, it'll stay that way."

"There's no turning back from what we are." Melody's words were a croak against her will, and she clenched her fists while glancing between her two best friends. "There's no regaining our limbs or switching to prosthetics. Our cybernetics are necessary. Hell, Sven would be blind without his. You'd be paralyzed. And these _cores_?" Mel shuddered at the word as her unfeeling hand touched the protected lump in her diaphragm. "They're lifelines. I hate this part of our existence us much as you do, but—"

"No, you don't; you _can't_!" Tabi's voice trailed into a strangled sound. She was frustrated, clearly—except a deeper meaning lay in her shakes that Melody couldn't decipher when the Nubian braced her rocket boots on the concrete. "We told you in March, we have no idea what we're meant for. All hopes of a normal life were dashed when we were kidnapped, and the only chance at real acceptance died when we realized the truth about Doctor Stephens.

"You're like us, yet you have a place. You're a doctor, soon to be employed by Baker. And you have others that treat you no differently because they're abnormal as well. You're turtle boyfriend—"

"Husband," Melody interjected.

"What?"

"Donatello is my husband."

Tabitha smiled snidely. Or maybe it was done in pain. Even so, Mel kept her expression even, waiting for the younger cyborg's conclusion.

"Whatever, Mel. Point is: you have purpose. We don't."

"That isn't true," Melody whispered.

Surely Sven didn't feel as strongly, did he? The half-blonde twisted her neck until she caught sight of the male's bright hair. Only, he wasn't facing his companions. He peered through the glass wall towards the dawning, smoggy sky, his shoulders wide with held breath.

"Our parents walk on eggshells around us," Sven drawled. "Tabi's parents adopt a tactful approach, ensuring everything they say is politically correct for a cyborg. And my father? He doesn't say it, but I know he's scared of me, what I can do. If our blood family can't act normally, how can we expect anyone else to? Let alone a whole society."

"We're stuck," Tabitha added. "And all we have is…you."

No amount of blinking could ease the burn in Melody's eye. For once, she was thankful to have just one; though she knew crying was healthy for a body's emotional state. Tabitha didn't hide her tears as well as the eldest cyborg, while Sven…well, if could, Mel felt assured he would be unable to hold them back either.

' _I did not pressure to meet them more often because I thought they were rebuilding their lives…And all these months they have been as alone as before? No. More so because…_ '

The half-blonde frowned, straightening between her best friends. "Are you going to listen to what the adults told us while growing up?" she asked in a voice of iron. "Will you believe you are a mistake? Or will you continue searching?"

"Searching gets so tiring," Tabi whispered towards the sky.

"So we will search together."

Slowly, the Nubian's dark eyes traveled from the pink-tinted clouds to Melody. They were filled with a lost pain Mel knew well, and despite her closed throat, the eldest kept her countenance steeled until Tabi approached her.

"Think we can find something?" the teen croaked while staring at her flared boot-feet.

"You two stuck with me through some of my worst years that I wish to forget," Melody started. "For that, I owe you."

"We don't want you to repay a debt," Sven interjected from Mel's other side.

"If you think about it"—Tabitha paused to face the cityscape again—"that debt was already repaid last winter…"

"Then not a debt," Mel agreed.

She followed the Nubian's lead, peering beyond the glass barrier at the pinks and oranges piercing the blue horizon like a flashlight in the face. It felt strange not standing beside Donatello at such a time, but she also didn't feel alone. So she reached for the cyborgs beside her. Three robotic hands, all joined. While they couldn't feel one another, Melody squeezed them lightly, her gaze set on the rising sun.

"I am sorry for my busy schedule. Two members of my family are very ill, and I must help. They are unconscious now, in dire states. But when they are better, I will be around more."

"Oh, I didn't—which—I…" Tabi sighed roughly. "Well, don't I feel like a bitch now."

"You had no way of knowing," Mel replied, listless to keep calm. She gripped the Nubian's hand tighter when the teen tugged it and allowed the sun's bright rays to cleanse her forms of stress as she continued, "If someone like me can find a place, you two can as well. So I promise to help you find it, no matter what."

"Thanks, Mel," Tabi whispered across the wind.

And the trio spoke no more while the sun continued its climb..

* * *

Hugh felt sick. Not because of a cold or anything he ate. He hadn't felt like eating all week, actually, and thus made a face at the unwrapped breakfast sandwich Blaine dropped before his nose. The detective pulled his folded arms further below his chin on the restaurant booth's table, his eyes lifting to the blonde officer who slid into the bench seat opposing him.

"Do I gotta treat you like one of my girls?" Blaine asked dryly.

"Don't bother," Hugh countered with a frown.

"What, no joke? Your playfulness sure has died since Monday."

"Stop." Hugh narrowed his eyes in warning, though his body was probably too weak to act on the threat.

"You brought this on yourself, Hugh. I told you if we got involved, our relationships would be strained."

"I don't see Jennifer moving out of your house."

Blaine paused before he unwrapped a second sandwich. "Because we have kids together. Trust me…she hasn't been too happy either. Makes me wonder if what we're doing is worth it. The Hamatos got along fine without us before, right?"

Try as he may, the clan's name prodded Hugh's chest like hot iron, so he focused on dismembering his food to keep a clear head. "Could you easily forget them? Leave them behind? They're on our side, allies. They just…can't be as open about it."

"And that closed nature is being forced on us the longer we associate with them."

"It's also revealed to us the true dangers in this city."

"Who are only a danger because of said exposure."

"Would you rather live your life in ignorance? Go on about your days, thinking the best of a monster?"

"There will always be monsters we aren't aware of." Sighing, Blaine's hazel eyes fell to Hugh's dilapidated sandwich, his gaze distant as the detective's fingers pulled a slice of bacon off some cheese. "But you can't go around looking for them, not when you have a family. It's not fair, and you may end up losing what you're trying to protect."

"Maybe there are things you must let go so they stay safe," Hugh whispered through a tight throat. He couldn't meet his best friend's gaze, and swore if the bacon's scent strengthened anymore, he'd barf. So he pushed the food away, burying his clammy face into his hands.

"Would you…actually chose them over Rina?"

"It's not a choice," Hugh muttered.

"Oh?" Blaine scoffed. "Is that what you're going to tell her? Will that make her sleepless nights and evening's staring at the door in hope any better?"

"Blaine, please—"

"No"—the blonde leaned forward, pulling Hugh's hands away from his face—"we can stop this. We don't have to be involved with the shadows. Kyle doesn't have to be a mole, Samuel can be forgotten, and we don't have to give up our families to fight an underground war."

Hugh flashed a bitter smile despite his friend's glare. "You're tied to them too, Blaine. If you cut them out of your life, Kaiya would never forgive you—especially not since you told her she could train with Michelangelo. They're good people, and they have enough enemies."

"I'm not suggesting we become their enemies."

"Turning our backs on them is no better. I…I can't do that."

"What about Rina's back?"

Hugh glanced sideways as if he'd been slapped. Maybe he might as well have been; his whole body tingled and slumped down further in his seat as he watched the sun's morning rays beat against early traffic beyond the restaurant's glass front. ' _Why can't I stand by them all?_ ' he thought. ' _I wonder…what would happen if Rina met them instead. She'd get a kick out of Mikey for sure. If she can get past the shell…_ '

"Way to tell me no one would be home, Hugh."

"Damien?" Hugh glanced up at the younger African-American standing cross-armed at the booth. "What're you talking about?"

"Does 'you can come over for breakfast more often if you want' ring a bell?"

"Did you go to my house?"

"Wouldn't have been such a letdown if at least Marina was home. I wanted Ken to taste her chocolate chip pancakes."

Following Damien's nod, Hugh's gaze fell to the shorter and far paler male by Blaine's seat. The wavy haired teen gnawed on his bottom lip, his eyes darting around the restaurant before they met the detective.

"It's safe, Ken," Hugh said when Kenneth rubbed his palms against his jeans.

"M—m—maybe," Ken replied. His eyes performed another sweep. Then, he leaned against the booth's wooden backrest as if it sheltered him and grew quiet.

"So what's going on?" Damien questioned while taking a seat beside Hugh. "I thought she was home every morning."

"D—did something ha—happen to her?"

Hugh couldn't help glaring at Ken. "She's fine."

"I wouldn't use those exact words," Blaine grumbled into his breakfast sandwich.

"Shut up, Blaine."

"Wow, someone's in a mood this morning."

Hugh groaned at Donna's voice before her face appeared between two plotted ferns stationed on the thick wall divider towards his left. Their long leaves hid her well, framing her cheeks while giving the impression that only her head existed. She smiled brightly with her wide mouth, unfazed by how silly she looked, but not long after Noah's disembodied voice sounded.

"There are people wanting to sit there, Don; get down."

The blonde huffed before complying, leaving Hugh to shake his head as the duo rounded the corner booth to stand by their coworkers. He was far too tired to lift his head from his hand, and so regarded them lazily with a sidelong glance.

"That frown's been there all week," Donna noted. "Is there any way we can turn it around?"

"Not everyone can smile twenty-four seven like you, Donna," Noah added. "Leave him alone."

"Is this about Doughnut's transfer to our precinct?"

"I could care less where that fat suck-up is," Hugh countered.

"Besides," Noah interjected, "that transfer was months ago. Why would he be upset now?"

"Good point. What about Samuel? Did he take your breakfast again?"

Hugh rolled his eyes. "What am I? Five?"

"Then maybe you're upset about Kyle? He transferred too, but still considers us his precinct. Wait." Donna paused dramatically then leaned into the group's center, her words low yet exaggerated. "Are you worried he'll turn to the dark side? Have his updates stopped?"

"That's not it," Hugh snapped with a rough shake of his head. He hoped the jerk would transfer him somewhere else, but when he leaned against the wall Donna has used as a prop, the same five pairs of eyes stared back at him. "Kyle updates when he can. He's early into the program, partnered with Doughnut at that. He has to be careful."

"Wouldn't we get more intel from the guy Donna's got stashed away?" Noah asked, dark gaze set on the impish blonde.

"For past matters? Yes. But to know more about the Hubs and…side projects, we need Kyle."

"I forgot Doughnut went into the program as well," Donna mused.

"Doesn't matter," Hugh said stoically. "We've kept minimal contact with Kyle to dissuade suspicion. Bishop hasn't returned to the precinct nor have we gotten any calls. I count that as a plus."

"Then why do you look like someone's tearing your heart in two?"

Donna was simply worried, Hugh knew. She laughed through her question, yet it was riddled with fear and pain. The detective felt small under her wide green eyes at the table's end—so much so that he drew his hand to his lap, his head barely lifted by what remained of his will to keep face.

"I'm just a little confused about my place," he replied in an undertone.

"You?" The blonde cocked her head, her smile still grim. "But you're the most assured out of everyone."

"Usually."

Hugh wouldn't fake a smile, not for these people. They would see right through it, anyway, and so he jabbed Damien's side to get the younger African-American to move. When he did, Hugh slid from the bench seat then gestured for his friends to take his spot.

"Hugh—" Blaine started.

"It's okay." Hugh regarded the glum blonde with a sturdy stare. "Can't keep anything down, so what's the point? Besides, Kyle's supposed to contact me with another update at the precinct. He went drinking with a couple of agents called Murphy and Evens last night, and now has something a little more…substantial. I'll see you guys later."

Did they wish him luck or bye? Hugh didn't know; everything grew into white noise by the time he headed for the restaurant's door..

* * *

 **A/N:** Storm strikes next chapter in "May Showers". Meanwhile, why not leave a review? ;)


	25. May Showers

**A/N:** Apparently, my sense of time is way wack this week. I posted the last chapter, thinking it was Monday (twas Sunday), and I meant to post this Tuesday. Evidently, that was yesterday. Pfft. Glad I don't keep track of anyone's Day Planners...

 _WOLF_ \- I always aim to throw out the unexpected, so, sweet! Look forward to more of that to come. ;)

 _Sciencegal_ \- Sorry about your cut-off review. Still love you, though. *hugs* Hugh hasn't been through the worse part yet. Hug him while you can...

* * *

 **Chapter 24:** **May Showers**

How could the days continue such a rapid descent? Just when Michelangelo found a highlight in one, it seemed Turtle Luck was set on eclipsing it soon after. And the resulting dreariness was beginning to take its toll on everyone, even him.

' _We haven't heard news about Nia in almost a week. Then when I came home on Thursday Splinter was already like…this._ '

The turtle mutant sighed, dipping a washcloth into a basin of tepid water beside Splinter's futon. Its moistness always numbed his fingers, although it wasn't cold, and he frowned at his father's raspy sigh when the unconscious rat writhed at its touch.

' _The wheezing's constant. I remember Mel saying he'd been choking on mucus when he collapsed….Maybe he should sit up more. Or…I don't know._ '

"Ni…ah." Splinter grumbled. His head jerked towards Michelangelo, his dark eyes squinted and glossed as if unsure of his son's identity. "We…need tea," he continued in a hoarse voice.

Mikey noted how his paw shook to lift, so he captured it, running a thumb over its hot flesh. "I—I'm sure Ni-chan would love to drink tea with you, Sensei. But your fever has to go down first."

"Miss, tea, Nia…Leonar…" The rat had already begun to drift asleep before he finished speaking. His head fidgeted against his small pillow as his body heaved below his kakebuton.

Mikey could hardly stand the sight—let alone the mumblings of his missed siblings–so he drenched the washcloth again, wrung it, then set it on Splinter's forehead before rising from the tatami floor. With a thick sigh in his chest, he exited the bedroom, sliding the shoji screen shut behind him. He hoped he'd heard enough depressing things for the day.

Then again, he should've expected more from Turtle Luck.

"What about the stupid computer chip thingies April got ya for Christmas?" Raphael asked while scowling. Insomnia outlined his eyes in thick circles and he paid no mind to his youngest brother when the orange-masked Chūnin neared him and Donatello by the kitchen table.

"Not everything I do is magic, Raph," the genius shot back. "Ape and I are still encountering program bugs. Besides, it's meant to track people outside. It can't find Nia in a hospital."

"So all the work ya've put in it had been for show."

"I'm tired, Raph. Can we not have this fight again?"

"Just sayin'."

"We'll find her, alright?" Don questioned, gentle.

"Whatever," Raph whispered. His arms folded, his gaze lowered, but Mikey felt the stance was more defeated than defiant.

He focused on the dense gauze wrapped around the hothead's knuckles, frowning at the faint red seeping through them. ' _He's been back and forth between listlessness and annoyance ever since Melody bandaged his hands. Who would've thought his moodiness could be worse?_ '

"Look"—Don's voice drew his brothers' gazes—"the antibiotics should be here within the hour. April texted me not long ago, saying she'd met Olson, paid him. As soon as we get Sensei set-up, I'll have her help me look into the facial recognition program. Deal?"

Raphael shrugged. And to make matters worse, he walked towards the couch without a glare or huff to spar. It was so unlike the hothead that Michelangelo's stomach sank. He sent the purple-masked mutant a questioning gaze, except Donatello responded by smiling bitterly before heading for Lab.

' _Guess I'm talking to grump turtle._ '

The nunchaku master twisted on his heel then neared the couch's back. His elbows rested on its top as he leaned forward, his attention partly set on the television's ads. "Saw you this morning. Still sleeping on the couch?"

"Not like I can sleep in my room."

"Too many memories?"

Raph glanced sideways with darkened amber eyes. "That _beast_ has taken it over."

"Little Piggy?"

"It's a monster, not a pig."

"Looks like a pig."

"An' a piranha. An' an armadillo."

"Should I start calling it Little Arma-pig-anha then?"

"I don't care what ya call it. It's a destructive pest an' it's taken over _my_ room."

"Surprised you're putting up with the mess, honestly." When Raph snorted, Mikey half-smiled. "Thought you would've resorted to murder by now. Or banishment at least. Wanna transfer him?"

"No."

"Why not? We could find a place that's roomy. And you'd get your—"

"It stays on her side 'a the bed…"

Michelangelo blinked at the hothead's soft sigh then leaned further over the couch so he could see the pain etched in his brother's expression.

"When I go in there, it'll let me leave food on my side," the sai master added. "But if I try touchin' any 'a Nia's stuff, it attacks. She really likes it, so if it's happy there…"

"I don't care what anybody says; you're a good guy, Raphy Boy," Mikey teased. He shoved Raph's limp shoulder, although his amusement fell when the hothead wouldn't straighten. "We'll see her again."

"That's what everyone keeps sayin'."

"Well, are you gunna let Gavin hold onto her forever?"

"Fuck no."

"Then it's settled. You'll find her." Grin returning, Mikey squeezed his brother's shoulder to set him up-right again. While Raph didn't fight the youngest's lead, he smirked, and that filled Mikey with enough confidence to step back from the couch and ask, "Is your Stealth Watch in your jacket pocket?"

"Why?" Raph countered wirily.

The orange-masked Chūnin approached a coat rack by the Lair's entrance then searched the pockets of a leather bomber jacket. "It's a little early, but I promised to meet Hoshi."

"Ya'll are usin' nicknames now?"

"Come on, you should hang out with us sometime. She's fun."

"Ya mean infuriatin'."

"Didn't you say the same thing about Nia once?"

Raphael blanched under Michelangelo's impish smirk.

"Since we've been booted from helping Lacio, we're gunna steak out a few Hubs. And before you have a heart attack, May showers are rolling in. Any activity will be minimal at best, so"—Mikey snickered at Raph, producing the Stealth Watch at last —"I get the feeling we'll be talking instead."

 **\- 0 - 0 -**

"This was supposed to be a shower, not a downpour," Starberry Girl griped.

Her pink and black form paced like a caged lioness below the covered walkway that provided shelter from the relentless rain, even at three stories high. Sure, it was a work-in-progress, but at least traffic was kept at bay during the late afternoon. And the unused steel rafters piled towards the building behind them provided a nice seat for Michelangelo to watch the green-haired heroine glare at the wet scene beyond them.

"Could be worse," the hero noted while tossing Raph's Stealth Watch up like a baseball.

"It's boring, Figo."

"Not completely." Mikey tossed the watch up again after catching it. "You got a pee break."

"It wasn't a—" The female paused with her thin lips parted, having caught Mikey's playful smirk. He swore a pinkish tinge blossomed over her cheeks, although it was hard to tell in the dull sunlight obscured by the storm. "Vabbe. My steel bladder can't last forever."

The hero chuckled behind her back when she turned away, continuing his private game of catch while she detached her Star Staff to whirl. "You probably have an easier time peeing than me."

"Tell me, Figo; how _do_ you whip it out in time with a full-body suit like that?"

Michelangelo about choked on his spit. Okay, so he did. And he beat the orange 'T' across his covered plastron to regain his senses and oxygen as the heroine threw a smirk over her bare shoulder. ' _Alright, payback. I can play this game._ '

"Wouldn't you like to know," he jested, stretching his arms up then behind his head.

"Don't flatter yourself," Hoshi countered when he reclined against the brick building. "But seriously, I need stimulation. Maybe we should switch to another Hub."

"And lose this prime spot?"

"The EPF fool down there has done nothing except pick his nose and look up porn for the last half hour."

"Uh, gross."

"It's your fault we're behind on this project anyway."

"Mine?" Mikey's lips pursed. "Why me?"

"You insisted on using our time together to investigate Lacio."

"Hey, you agreed!"

"That's because—" Starberry cut herself short by huffing. She jerked her head sideways then faced the rain again, cutting its dense fall with swings of her golden staff.

"Because what?" the hero pressed, his arms lowering.

"Doesn't matter. They didn't want our help, and we only wasted chances to catch the bomber. I scraped up as much extra time as I could behind Mum's back to follow the Hubs as well, but…"

"Wait, you've done hero work without me?"

Hoshi snorted. "I don't need a babysitter, Figo. So don't pout."

"Would this happen to be the same time you tried recruiting Nightwatcher for our team?"

"Did he tell you about that?" The heroine sounded a bit too distant for comfort and Mikey frowned when she sighed. "We talked the same night of the fireworks incident, where his helmet was found."

"He isn't dead, if that's what you're worried about," Mikey noted while crossing his arms.

"I know that much. Forty-Four members have seen him at least twice on the street since then. But not at all these last few days."

"He hasn't been feeling well," Mikey muttered towards the ground. He shook his head, though, refusing to think about the depression at home, and lightened his tone as Hoshi began swinging her staff like a baseball bat. "But he did mention you proudly revealed our secret exchange of numbers."

"Was that a secret?

"Not that I'm complaining"—which he actually was—"but why make our duo a trio?"

"There's strength in numbers, Figo."

"While true, I've been enjoying having you to myself."

Starberry's staff swung hard enough that she nearly hit the side of her head. She played it off by swinging the staff the other way just as hard then back again, only weaker. "I'm sure we could all have a fun time together. He's easy to mess with."

' _I told Raph that earlier, but…I'm okay with him holding off for a while._ '

"Don't tell me you'd be jealous," Hoshi continued with a snicker.

"No more than you were about a little girl," Mikey countered.

The heroine growled. "I wasn't jealous."

"You're awfully defensive for someone not jealous."

"I'm not defensive, either."

Mikey grinned at the way her green ponytail bobbed when she shook her head. "Sure thing."

"Zitto, idiota."

"Now I may not speak Italian, but that sounded like an insult. I should be…well, insulted."

"I get the feeling that's one of many insults you've been called."

"How do you figure?"

"You're smiling."

Michelangelo threw his head back in a laugh. Yeah, he was. He couldn't stop, either, so he maintained his grin through a series of thunderous rumbles that echoed in the distance. "When you're the youngest of three brothers, you have to adapt. I know they mean all their names with love, though."

"Right; I forget you had that many siblings."

"Plus some sisters. And a father."

"Full house."

"More or less…What about you? You've mentioned your mom, but do you have any other family?"

And cue a sore spot. Mikey flinched at the sudden rigidness that halted Hoshi's swing mid-stride, and he considered retracting his question when the staff's round head met the walkway's floor. She sighed heavily—more like his question was bothersome than hurtful—then steeled her stance, twisting her torso so she sent the hero a look that seemed dead because of her black eye mask.

"Family has nothing to do with why we're here," she said listlessly.

"Just making conversation," Mikey countered, his gloves raised in surrender. "Wouldn't want you to get bored. What would you rather talk about?"

"Anything except siblings…" Shoulders slumped, Hoshi beat the butt of her staff against her combat boots, gaze set on the rainfall instead of Mikey's weak smile.

"How about teachers? We haven't had much chance to talk about Madame Vermillion, and I'm dying to know how accurate the comics are."

"Considering she used me as an errand girl to relay that information, I can tell you most comics are accurate."

"Yet you were never mentioned in them."

"Because I came around after Mill's retirement."

Mikey raised an eye ridge. "You call her Mill?"

"Well, I called her by her real name. But I swore a blood oath never to reveal it."

"Really?"

"Want to see the scar?"

"Can I?"

Hoshi sent a pointed stare. "No."

"Just where is this scar?" Mikey asked with a sly smile.

"I met Mill when I was thirteen," the heroine added. "On the streets of Palermo when I tried to stop a mugging."

"Palermo again. Is that where you were born? And did you start being a hero at the age of thirteen?"

"Do you want to hear this story or not?"

Michelangelo grew quiet when another rumble of thunder accentuated Hoshi's pout and she faced the rain again only after he nodded.

"I didn't know she was Madame Vermillion at the time. She'd been retired since I was three, so I only saw her as some surly old Chinese lady who showed up at weird times and insisted on giving me unwanted tips."

"Old Asians make the best instructors," Mikey drawled. But he sucked in his bottom lip the moment Hoshi's staff beat the concrete.

"I pushed her away at first. A lot. And paid for it with pain. When I finally admitted I needed help in heroism, then she told me who she was. Apparently all those odd appearances were tests."

"To see if you were worthy?"

"No. She told me outright I wasn't chosen because of worth."

"Then…what?"

"They were tests of my stubbornness. Like I said, I earned a lot of pain trying to pave my own path. I still remember the words she told me before my mentorship started, 'Several heroes have come before you, yet none were willing to endure the pain. They gave in where you did not. It made me believe I have found the one who can survive my tutelage.'"

"Survive?"

"That's the exact word she used. And it was appropriate. I can't begin to number the sleepless nights of aches and hours of practice. The trips, the fights, the stress—it was all meant to morph my character, reveal my true potential. I graduated a year behind my peers because I sacrificed so much time for my role as Starberry Girl. Mum hated that…"

"D—did your mom know the whole time you were a heroine?" Michelangelo leaned forward with his elbow on his knees, unsure what to make of the slight twitch in Starberry Girl's shoulder.

"She was the one who bandaged me every night. She hated me doing it. But she also knew— _knows_ —it's my nature. I physically can't stand back as others are hurt. I can't be useless. I _can't_ …watch."

"I can sympathize with that," Mikey noted lowly. His eyes focused on the heroine's trembling fists to keep his mind from wandering too far, and when they stilled, he felt a sense of relief at her small tone.

"It's another reason Mill worked with me. She sensed a kindred spirit. So all those justice-filled speeches and manhunts for mobsters were accurate. It's probably why I'm so sore when the bad guys get away."

"What made you move from Italy? Did you and Vermillion want to come here?"

"Wish it were that simple," Hoshi muttered with a sigh. "I haven't seen my mentor in nearly three years, when I passed her final test and earned my chance to stand in her footsteps. Unfortunately, I was never as great as her; never got my own comic series or had villains shudder at my name. Can't help feeling I let her down in those regards."

"You don't seem like a let-down to me, Chibi Hoshi."

"Grazie, Figo."

"Maybe you can make a name here instead. With me?"

The heroine chuckled—a weak, pitiful action. "We'd have to do something pretty drastic. Certainly more than watch Hubs in the rain."

"Hey"—Mikey flashed a lopsided smile—"in this city, anything can happen at the drop of a hat. And with gang wars and the EPF roaming about…"

"Don't get me started with those monsters. Feels like there isn't any place their grimy fingers don't have a hold of."

"You never did tell me what happened with him in Italy."

"Because I don't want to talk about it. I know you're against them, which is good enough for me."

"You aren't the _only_ one with grudges." Michelangelo snapped without meaning to; his mind reeled with the image of a light-skin brunette, whose short, side parted hair accentuated her large forehead. He remembered being thankful for that once, when he kissed it, and he couldn't shake the fear from her small, ovular eyes that'd haunted him for far longer than the Summers family did.

"Have they taken a lot from you as well?" Starberry asked, soft. She was considerate enough to watch the rain instead how the hero gripped his knees in pain, so he returned the kindness by not mentioning how hard her voice trembled.

"My clan has sort'a warred against Bishop for nine years. Guess it's natural. Still…people get caught in our crossfire, who are undeserving. And some of them had a lot to offer, like…God"—Mikey clicked his tongue, rubbing his face—"Christina could've done anything if it weren't for me."

"Christina?" Hoshi repeated the name with such familiarity, Michelangelo felt compelled to meet her mask in awe. "Christina Silliman?"

"How do you know her last—"

Doop, doop, bee, doop! Mario's theme song cut the mutant off with bouncy notes that betrayed the serious mood. He spared Starberry Girl a glance before reaching for his Shell Cell. The caller ID displayed Hugh's name, and for a moment, Mikey considered ignoring it in favor of his talk with Hoshi. ' _Given all that's going on, I better not._ '

So, flipping it open, he held the phone against his internal ear. "Howdy!" he greeted.

"Michelangelo." A sniffle sounded over the line then a growl, both of which belonged to the detective.

"Um," Mikey's voice lowered, "Hugh? What's wrong? Why is the background so loud?"

"I need help," the man replied in a scratchy voice. There was a pause as something covered the phone, muffling an argument in the distance that Hugh replied to. Whatever he said couldn't be heard, however, and the human didn't elaborate before continuing. "Come to Herald Square, you and Raphael. Please."

"Now?"

"Yes! There's a hostage situation at Diamond Bank. I—It's a mess and I…I need you to do something for me."

"It's, like, five o'clock, Hugh. It'd be light and if officers are already on the scene—"

"Marina's in there," Hugh hissed. "So are Jen and Megan. I've kept your secrets, dammit. I've been on your side and sacrificed, so the least you can do is _this_."

"Hugh…" Mikey sat back, his stomach sinking at the man's snarl.

"Don't play stupid. I know Nightwatcher and Titan are Hamatos. And I need them. I need them to save my wife."

.

* * *

 **A/N:** Yup, we're jumping further into the story's middle now. Gotta few twists coming up. ;)

Meanwhile, I decided to do something similar to what I had done with " _Hollow Hearts_ ". My norm is to post two chapters a week, but if I get 4 reviews on a chapter, I'll add an extra one or two ( depending on the feedback ;D ). I leave it up to you how much I post. :P

HAPPY THANKSGIVING, EVERYONE!


	26. Cornered

**A/N:** Well, I got my 4 reviews, so here's another chapter before the week's out. Hope you enjoy the heist bust. Well, half of it. ;D

 _Sciencegal_ \- I will say Gavin ISN'T happy Raph's depressed. He feels BETTER with his daughter under his watch. But he isn't happy about anyone's depression, believe it or not. He's still a jerk, though. XD More Soap clues to come! It was an element I got to spread out over more chapters than I thought I'd be able to. o uo

 _WOLF_ \- Well, here you have it. Wait no longer!

 _Feather_ \- Aw, thanks. :) Yeah, Hoshi is crude and fearless about speaking her mind, which has brought about many of funny moments. As for jealousy...yeah, she's the kind to outright attack a rival. Mikey better be careful with his boyish charms. XD

 _D_ \- Binge reading. Nice. ;) Is is? Then you should find out where, so I can poke fun at it. Personally, I came up with the "Starberry" name, like, 6 or 7 years ago. In the story, the name is created by someone with the equivalent creative maturity I had when I was 17, and it basically went like this: "I love stars...I love berries...let's put them together!" Nothing grand on my part, but it means A LOT on Hoshi's part. You'll see. Later. :P

* * *

 **Chapter 25:** **Cornered**

Everything sounded deafening to Hugh—from the shuffle of active Midtown South officers and rainfall to the chatter of police scanners inside several open vehicles. And yet no sound resonated within him more vividly than his distressed heart. It sent tingles through his limbs, which left them restless as the detective stalked the wet street for a better view into Diamond Bank's glass entrance.

It was damaged by gunfire—mostly from the inside—with bright glares across it despite cloudy skies. The resulting spiderweb breaks distorted the image beyond it and thus prevented Hugh from spotting Marina.

' _How can a corner building be guarded on two sides by four-story tall windows, and_ we're _the ones at a disadvantage? That damn balcony is far too convenient for a robber…._ '

"Detective Reese," a sharp tone said, "I told you to keep away from the tape!"

Hugh glanced down. He hadn't felt the pressure from the crime tape his pelvis stretched. Then again, it never had been the best barricade.

"You're wasting breath, Bertino," another, higher, voice added. "Nearly every precinct knows what a hardheaded mook Reese is."

"My _wife's_ in there, Doughnut," Hugh spat towards a stout man dressed in a fine suit.

Luis Eckley didn't reply. Instead, he continued his journey from a police cruiser to the silent Bertino as if he were partaking in a parade instead of a hostage situation. When he met them at the tape's barrier, Hugh glared into the small eyes peering up from below an umbrella, despising how smug the Hispanic's smirk looked across his meaty face.

"What are you doing in Mid South's territory?" the African-American continued.

"Special perks, you see." Eckley's free hand combed over his Van Dyke beard, but Hugh wouldn't give him the pleasure of commenting on the change from his peer's usually overgrown facial hair. "I've gained favor in both Bishop's and the Commissioner's eyes. About time I got my much-needed respect, right?"

Hugh blew some rain off his prominent lips. "You're just a patsy that got praise during a crime spree, and you have no right to be here."

"Actually, I do." Eckley grinned—a detestable action, which raised his shapely eyebrows towards his tight, curly hair. "Given my acceptance into the EPF program, I can now partake in any investigation I deem suspicious of odd activity."

"Bullshit."

"It's in the contract. Wanna see? Or maybe you'd rather ask your friend, Detective Erich. Or is it Officer Erich now? Sorry; I often lose track of demoted members."

"I don't have time for you." Glancing over the open cars towards Diamond Bank, Hugh clenched his jaw.

"I know this is hard, Detective Reese," Bertino interjected, "but your involvement would compromise the mission."

"You're telling me I can't even try to save my wife!" Hugh snarled with a growl.

"Our hostage negotiator will be here soon. Show patience."

The younger officer left without any real hope; Hugh could tell by how the brunette wrung his hands before joining his fellow Mid Town officers along the car lineup. The detective's already low stomach sank further, until it felt like it'd hit the asphalt and followed the murky rainwater into the overflowing street gutter.

A negotiator was a last resort. If that tactic failed…

"I heard the robbers are a strange shape."

Hugh's narrowed eyes fell on Eckley, who watched the bank. "One was unusually flat and wide, but that's a far cry from unnatural, isn't it?"

"True." The stout man grinned again. "Still, this place was upgraded by the EPF during the Little Red Robberies. They want me to take notes on its weaknesses."

"Give you a hint: it isn't letting anyone past the entrance."

"Thought the robber's AK-47 had a say in that matter."

"As well as the other _guns_ your organization installed."

"Wouldn't know why that would be. All I can say is I enjoy being on the other side of the tape. Must burn, right?"

"You've always hated the Nineteenth Precinct."

"But you hold a special place in my heart. Payback's a bitch, isn't it?" Eckley chuckled, flicking his umbrella in Hugh's direction so water splashed against the African-American's face when he left.

What a wasted action. Hugh was already drenched, although anxiety had numbed his body to the clothes bogging his lanky form down. He found it useless to shake the moisture off, so he buried his hands in his trench coat's pockets to grip two things inside them: a cell phone and the wedding ring Marina had left for Hugh to return once he made his choice.

' _Please, guys,_ ' he thought while gulping, ' _get there before the negotiator. These cases rarely go well. And if I lose Marina…_ '

He'd never be the same. He knew that for a fact—just like he knew the person he'd grow into wouldn't be for the better.

"This is Dispatch calling for Officer Eckley."

Hugh's head jerked up because Dispatch's feminine voice cut through the rain and his heart. His brows furrowed while Eckley fumbled towards a NYPD-decorated Dodge and climbed into the driver seat to respond over the radio.

"This is Eckley. What's the code, Dispatch?"

"We've got an Eight in Hell's Kitchen. Heavy gang activity and the one known as Nightwatcher has been spotted on scene. Bishop has requested you take point—priority Nightwatcher."

"Ten-Four, Dispatch. I'm on my way. Over."

Eckley slammed his door shut with more force than necessary, but not before he sent Hugh a self-important smile. The vehicle roared to life in seconds then reversed towards the detective's shins, stopping on a dime by the stretched crime tape. Eckley's eyes glanced up in the rearview mirror when he revved the Dodge and thunder crackled as he sped down the road. Hugh's tight fists clenched further at the sound of tires screeching against damp asphalt, to the point where he felt them beyond his numbness.

' _Damn Doughnut._ _Is he going after Raphael? But I thought…Does this mean Michelangelo's alone? Will they both be cornered by police?_ '

For a moment, the detective considered making another call. While Michelangelo had said Raphael broke his phone because of an argument with Gavin, warning the younger brother could give the hothead a heads up. Then again, it could also delay or even distract the hero from Hugh's request.

It probably wasn't morally right. And it would likely cost Raphael a lot trouble and pain. But Hugh kept his phone in his pocket, focusing instead on how icy Marina's wedding band felt

.

* * *

"I'm telling you, Figo: there's no other way in."

Michelangelo frowned at Starberry Girl's voice over his Shell Cell and scanned Broadway Street from his high vantage atop an underused library. Yup, still a lot of police presence. And Diamond Bank looked a little unwelcoming across the way given the many bullet wounds in its glass front. "There're no other options on that side, Hoshi?"

"Nada. All the office windows are barred, and the backside is pure vault."

"What if we came in from the top?"

"Sei pazzo? Diamond Bank was established in the forties; it's all open-planned, save the fortified teller booths. That means a four story drop of vulnerability with not just robbers, but loaded EPF traps at the ready."

"Still, we can't go barreling through the entrance. Look how well that worked for the police."

"Scared you'll get nicked, Figo?"

"No. I'm scared of what the robbers will do to the hostages if we provoke them at the wrong time."

"In my experience, throwing the bad guys off with wild behavior creates a chance for retrieval. Or at least gives others an opening."

Mikey could picture the sly smirk Hoshi wore, and almost laughed, despite the situation. "Usually, I'd go for wild, but…"

"These hostages are special. I get it, Titan." Hoshi's voice lowered as the mutant squeezed his phone. "But you also know the front is our best chance."

Mikey hated to agree, yet he grunted, catching a glimpse of pink moving across the bank's five-story high roof. "Uh, what are you doing?"

"Getting a better view? I'll signal when there's an opening."

"For what?"

"E che cazzo. What do you think? Just be ready with your grappling hook."

Michelangelo's Shell Cell cut off before he could stand. By then, Starberry Girl had lept off the building. The mutant almost screamed her name through the rain—it was instinct—yet her slender form flew over the bank's main sign to settle in a niche beside it. It was a simple, well-executed move resembling a butterfly, and very familiar from the Madam Vermillion comics he'd been re-reading with Nia.

' _Just like Madam V, I didn't even see her anchor the cable. We never see how it's anchored!_ '

Curse his fan boy urges; now was such an inappropriate time. So, choking back a slight thrill, the hero ignored how Hoshi seemed to float in her position, and focused on the police officers stationed on Broadway. Several members had noticed her, though none stood out more than Hugh. The detective's dark figure was easy to distinguish; he sat like an animal chomping at the bit near the bank's taped off entrance, staring straight at the black and pink heroine.

' _Don't worry, Hugh,_ ' Mikey thought. ' _We'll get them out. All we need is an opening—a moment to separate the robber from Jennifer. Maybe then we can find out where the others are_ …'

Clenching his grappling hook, the mutant detached it from his belt then readied it so the building's ledge was in his cross-hairs. Seconds ticked by with him in that position, threatening his patience with relentless water and dread. Yet he remained still until Starberry Girl glanced his way.

The signal was quick—a simple hand motion that warranted movement. So why delay?

The grappling gun hissed when it deployed across Broadway. Its pronged head hooked along the bank's top-most ledge, and once the wire's tension tightened, Michelangelo dove from his perch. He had no time to consider how long the hook would remain stationary; he could only pray it lasted long enough for him to reach Hoshi.

"You looked like a dark green wrecking ball coming over here, Figo," the heroine said, smirking as the hero sought some other anchor he trusted more.

"Plan, Chibi Hoshi," Mikey snapped in return.

"Okay, okay. The robber went to one of the back rooms. See the long transit between the third and fourth story window panes?"

"The one that mostly runs behind the sign? Yeah, I ain't squeezing behind that."

"Never said you needed to. Wait here, and keep that cop away."

"What cop?" Mikey glanced over his shoulder as Starberry Girl disappeared behind the sign.

He met Hugh's gaze with pressed lips then jerked his head towards the other NYPD members that hadn't noticed him yet. Though the detective nodded in understanding, he was reluctant to look anywhere else, and a tight pressure on his chest caused by the man's wide eyes hindered the mutant before he noticed the transit window shift. The glass rotated until it looked like a chute, which Starberry Girl signaled him through from the other side.

If only he were a better fit for such a situation.

"Cazzo, what do you eat?" the green-haired heroine snapped when his mid-section became wedged.

"Forget that," he hissed. "What about the EPF guns?"

"The sign is hung on both sides. We'll be hidden if"—Hoshi tugged on her companion's boots harder—"you would just"—she heaved—"fit thought this damn window!"

"Aren't you being a little loud? What if the robber—? Duck!"

Michelangelo's leg shoved Starberry Girl towards safety behind the décor sign in time for his ears to ring with a battle cry from an assault rifle. He cursed under his breath, fumbling for the spare Shoku he kept in pockets on his utility belt, and cursed again when shattering glass signaled his release from the transit. Sudden weightlessness didn't startle him, but a pressure around his waist did. It stopped him feet from the tile floor then swung him towards an ATM on the lobby's innermost wall opposing the glass side.

"Can't take you anywhere nice," Starberry Girl teased beside him.

Mikey sent her a pointed look, bringing her closer as several shots left the ATM in sparks. "I would've recovered without the fancy cable moves," he whispered. "And why are you smirking? This is a horrible spot."

"Oh, it's alright."

She continued smirking, which led Mikey's attention to his arm around her waist. She snickered while he pretended his blush didn't exist, and it wasn't until her tone grew haughty that he glanced away from the bright entrance.

"Looks like we're doing things my way after all."

"Why not try talking first?"

"If you think talking will help, why not wait for the hostage negotiator?"

"Because…" Mikey frowned. "Hugh asked. Though in all honesty, he was probably hoping for my ninja side."

"What ninja side?"

Ignoring Hoshi's imploring gaze, the mutant turned towards the shot-out security cameras mounted from the high-rise ceiling. He noted several cannon-like weapons along the back wall, above a rounded balcony where the robber resided. They reminded him of high-tech radar guns, like the ones by the bank's forefront. And though they had already been damaged, their remaining siblings in the lobby's middle section scanned for future targets.

"Guess those haven't sensed us yet, huh? Mikey asked.

Hoshi snorted. "Can't say the same for—"

"Get out, heroes!" a new voice cried. It was low, obviously scrambled, and accompanied by a few bullets that forced Mikey to duck his and Hoshi's heads.

"You got one chance for surrender!" the heroine shouted over the wounded ATM. Immediate snarls sounded. Then more gunfire, which ended with Hoshi shrugging. "Think talking's out of the question. Let's move to Plan B."

"B? Isn't this more like C or D? Unless you counted on being caught."

"Figo"—Starberry Girl flashed a smirk—"that's always the plan."

"Well, aren't you going to inform me of this new one?" Not like Mikey's question mattered; Hoshi flipped over the ATM before he twisted on his knees.

He quirked an eyeridge as she turned something on her left glove that caused it to hiss then light up pink around her wrist. She even ignored the gun's onslaught to aim her glove at the mini EPF cannons, wrist upwards. A thin cable shot forward then swept her off her feet once its end nestled deep in the molding, and Mikey banged his head against the ATM when she swung into danger's path.

' _She isn't working with me! God, she's doing what Raph does to—to Leo…Oh, geez, is this how he feels when we run off? It's seriously frustrating_.'

He'd have to apologize to the Jonin when he returned. Until then, he had other worries.

Frowning, the hero lifted his head, watching Starberry Girl run vertically along the wall thanks to her glove's cable. It seemed like a reckless move—like the bad idea kind. A dense trail of bullets followed her in addition to the little cannons. Yet she maintained momentum while weaving between the weapons and Mikey smiled when he realized her aim.

' _She's taking out cannons while depleting the robber's gunfire. Nice idea, but…what about me?_ '

The mutant huffed then faced the bank's half-glass wall. Three other cannons were prime pickings along its molding, focusing solely on Hoshi and the robber—to the point where Mikey could produce a handful of Shuriken from his utility belt without detection. He sent them flying in accurate routes over the ATM that sliced their logos in half, and pumped his fist at the success.

"How you like that?" he asked the heroine. "Got mine in under thirty seconds!"

"But you get a zero for showmanship, TT!" Hoshi shot back.

Her cable had recoiled at some point, so she now crouched on the balcony's thick railing. With a chuckle, she sprung off it, leaving Mikey to race up the stairs for a better view. He reached the landing with his arms poised for battle and narrowed his eyes as the robber blocked Starberry Girl's tornado kick.

"Stay out of this," the robber hissed.

He used a balled fist to swipe at Hoshi, yet she avoided it by arching backwards before cartwheeling out of range. Doing this gave the mutant his first good look at the assailant—a muscular figure in a full black bodysuit who rivaled Hun's mass. He wore a belt altered on his narrow hips to accommodate several curved magazines, except only three remained, while overlaying straps across his chest lead Mikey to believe the robber had arrived with two loaded AK-47s.

Okay, so that should be cause for alarm. But the mutant found the man's mask creepier than the thought of being shot at. It was a white face with a wide smiling mouth and slanted cut-out eyes that bore into him with their freaky reminiscence of a demonic clown. Again, creepy.

"Did funny school turn sour, Bozo?" Mikey questioned.

The robber kicked several expended magazines by his feet, apparently unamused by the hero's quirked lip. "You should leave before I reload," he said through his voice scrambler. "I'd rather not waste ammo."

"Too bad; where are the hostages?" Starberry Girl asked, stern. Mikey turned his head when he heard her Star Staff whirl, though she didn't wear as serious as an expression as he would've liked. "Or would you rather I beat the answer from you?"

"Unlikely," the robber spat.

His black hand twitched, so Michelangelo immediately rushed forward for a flying jump kick. His boot met the robber's face with a force that shook his leg from his ankle to his hip; however, the man remained still like a statue despite Hoshi's follow up kick. As if swatting away children, he gripped the duo's feet then spun so that when he released them, they were sent flying into opposing office desks by a hallway.

Mikey groaned, climbing out of the mess. Hoshi barreled past his vision in a blur of pink, gold, and black, and he watched her leap higher than she ever had before when the robber swiped at her a second time. She batted his head with her Star Staff then landed on his shoulders to wrap her legs around his neck, leaning behind him. Her intent was probably to flip him—or at least unbalance him—yet her power obviously meant little.

"Don't think that's gunna work, Hoshi," Mikey called out over her aggravated growl.

The robber reached for her legs, pulling down the thigh-high fishnets as he swung her again. Mikey caught her before she smacked another desk, flashing a weak grin.

"I would've recovered," she mumbled.

Michelangelo couldn't retaliate; the robber's colorful swear brought his gaze towards the stairs. There, a willowy blonde in a sun dress was caught by the gunman's strong grip, having failed to escape. She whimpered as he twisted her wrist tighter, then pinned her against his chest. His free arm aimed a newly loaded AK-47, his distorted voice shaking with frustration.

"Go out there and make the cops hand over the code."

"No can do, Jingles." Hoshi sprung from Mikey's arms, but ensured she caught his eye. Nodding towards her staff, she thumbed the red button that activated its electrical current then subtlety gestured to the assault rifle.

"I distract the gun; you shock the hell out of him?" the mutant questioned in an undertone.

She smirked.

"Fine, but don't hurt Jennifer."

"Who?"

"The hostage."

Without awaiting confirmation, Mikey dove sideways. At first, he feared the robber would wait for Hoshi's move. What a useless fear that was. Gunfire followed him from the balcony's hallway to its railing. He flipped, spun, backtracked—anything to impair the robber's upper hand. The magazine depleted quickly; by then Hoshi had made her way behind the man and somehow dug her Staff under his bodysuit by his neck.

Hopeful, Mikey held his ground and waited for a chance to help Jennifer. Unfortunately, such joy was short-lived.

The robber's body crackled with a high charge, traveling from him to Jennifer. Yet Jennifer was the only one who screamed. Or moved, really. While her limbs contorted, he stood taller, unflinching as he gripped Hoshi's staff then side-kicked her in the stomach. She fell backwards, her mouth agape from shock, and she had no defense when the gunman turned her own weapon against her.

"Starberry Girl!" Mikey screamed, dashing ahead.

He karate-chopped the robber's hand then kicked the staff away. Gathering up Hoshi, he avoided his opponent's sudden punch, which left a notable indent in the balcony's carpet, to take refuge behind the desk he'd fallen into not long ago.

"Hoshi?" he asked as he swept aside her light green bangs.

She didn't respond. Her eyes remained closed, her breath unsteady, so Mikey cradled her against his covered plastron for protection. ' _Even shock attacks don't work? What is this guy made of? It's like Melody. Wait._ '

"Uh, you wouldn't happen to know an organization named Black Lotus, would you?" Mikey yelled to avoid a bullet in the skull after the robber had undoubtedly reloaded.

"Who?"

There was no faking the annoyed confusion in the distorted voice, leaving the mutant with a sigh. ' _Okay. So maybe he isn't one of those jewel thieves. Still…_ '

"What did I say about wasting time?"

A short series of gunshots ricocheted off the wooden desk Mikey hid in. When they paused, he dared peer over the sideways furniture, careful to keep calm for Jennifer's sake. "Come on, man. You don't really want to hurt anyone, do you?"

"This isn't about what I want." The robber tightened his black arm around the blonde's throat. "This about what I need."

"No one ever needs to kill."

"If the damn police would get the owner on the phone, then I won't have to."

"But—"Mikey frowned and couldn't help noting a waver in the robber's voice—"you can't get away with breaking the law, either."

The masked man scoffed. "You'd figure to be bound by the law you'd have to be considered human. But those with authority love exercising their control, considering the lepers of society only when they step across their line."

"What are you—?"

"Just get the damn owner already!"

"You know I can't do that. Maybe if you told me where the others are, though, we can figure out another way. Together."

The robber paused. Whether in contemplation or aggravation, Mikey couldn't tell because the strange facemask held a single expression. Yet somehow, the red tears seemed more accurate of the robber's true emotions than anything the hero's imagination could guess.

"Why can't they give me the code? I _need_ the code."

"You can't possibly need money that badly."

"This isn't about money anymore!" The robber straightened, his grip raising Jennifer so she stood on her tip-toes.

"The others are trapped in the vault!" she cried. Her captor obviously disagreed with the outbreak and thus bent his arm further so she could no longer speak.

"What does she mean?" Mikey questioned over the blonde's gasps.

"That's none of your business. Just…just get the code."

"Look, man." The green-clad mutant raised his arms, yet kept a careful eye on the swaying gun. "The cops are going to storm this place at any minute. And trust me, they'll shoot. Is this escapade worth your life? What about your partner?"

" _Don't_ talk about them!"

In an instant, Mikey stared at a gun barrel. Except rather than fear, he felt pity when the weapon shook. "Them?" he asked, soft. "I thought there were only two of you. Hugh said so himself. Don't tell me…" His eyes widened. "You're Zebb?"

"Unbelievable," the man grumbled.

"The Man Without Pain. That's why Starberry's staff didn't work. S—so the other must be Ulla and Unna."

"I've told you to back off, Titan. So do it."

"Is _this_ the alternative you had planned? Think about Rose and Barry!"

"I have been!"

With an airy snarl, Zebb squeezed Jennifer until her gasping ceased. He meant to pull the trigger; Michelangelo could detect the intent like second nature. This prepared him to duck behind the desk as several bullets buried into it, and once a click signaled the man's expended ammo, he left Hoshi to roll towards her staff near the balcony's other side. He twirled it, racing towards Zebb's mammoth form with one goal in mind.

"There can be another way!" he shouted while leaping.

The staff's butt wedged between Zebb's chest and arm. The pressure from Mikey's descent forced them to separate. The robber backpedaled while Jennifer fell into Mikey's open arms. Maybe he didn't expect the mutant to weigh so much, and so had to shake away astonishment before swiping his gun at Mikey's temple.

Avoiding the blow came as an easy task, although Jennifer's long body hindered the hero when he rolled towards the teller booths. "Is this really how you'll let it end for those kids?" he asked the approaching man. "Fighting me only increases your chances of being arrested."

"And I'm supposed to believe you'll let matters be if I give in?"

"I'm not saying you should give in."

Zebb halted, just for a second before his Chi spiked with rage. "Don't talk to me like you understand. You have no idea what it's like living in Lacio. To see your kind ridiculed every day, watch them makes fools of themselves for some approval."

"I know more than you might think," Mikey said in an undertone. He gripped Jennifer tighter, glancing down at her unconscious form. "I've lived my whole life in fear that someone will run screaming from me."

"Poor hero," taunted Zebb, arms spread, "so misunderstood."

"This was a mistake, Zebb. One I can't blame you for, so trust me. We'll find an escape."

"There's one kind that I can rely on. You aren't it."

"But fighting is pointless!" Rising to one knee, Mikey glared, unmoving as the robber adopted a battle stance. "I don't want Barry and Rose alone. And I don't want any hostages hurt either. If we're going to get everyone out, we must act now. "

"Why should I trust you?"

"Had we not been guided by our father, my brothers and I probably would've wound up in this same situation."

"You bleeding liar. You're probably some bored billionaire wanting more attention."

Alright, so Zebb didn't believe Michelangelo, which meant he had little choice in his next move. Breath baited, he pushed aside logic, uncertainty, and fear to slip his fingers below his cowl. It jerked off with a single motion that almost scraped his eyes, yet he faced the robber with a sure expression, chin raised.

"I know exactly where you're coming from," he said. "And if you ever want to see Barry and Rose again, you'll work with me."

* * *

 **A/N:** BOOM, BABY. How ya like that? Now, prepare for all kinds of new complications and surprises in the next chapter "Dust Storm". ;)

If I get 4 reviews, I'll post Sunday. If not, I'll do my usual Tuesday and Thursday post. :D


	27. Dust Storm

**A/N:** Here you have it. Enjoy!

 _WOLF_ \- Boo, work. But I understand. XD

 _D_ \- Desperate times, man. ;P

 _Sciencegal_ \- Not quite...

* * *

 **Chapter 26:** **Dust Storm**

Michelangelo stared into Zebb's mask, unblinking at its dead, black eye sockets.

"You," Zebb said through his voice changer, "you're a mutant?"

"See why I've been so pushy?" the unmasked hero questioned. "Then again, even if you were 'normal' or an alien, I would've acted the same."

"Why?"

Mikey flashed a crooked smile. "Because I can't help being a hero. Now will you believe I'm on your side?"

The Man Without Pain sighed, groaned, then ripped the mask from his head as if it'd bit him. His tanned, tattooed skin scrunched in disgust at the mask's reddened cheeks before he traced its lines, lifting his gaze towards Diamond Bank's damaged entrance. "Things weren't supposed to be this way," he noted in a hoarse voice.

"Your approach kind'a sucked," the mutant jested. "Chances would've been better if you considered a covert operation."

"That's not what I meant, Titan. I mean…having to resort to this."

"I've offered help."

"Unless you really are a billionaire, that offer's useless. To get the life we dreamed of—that my family deserves—this heist needed to go off without a hitch." Sighing, Zebb brought his intense dark eyes on his mask. "We aren't professionals. This was a one-time event, and we screwed it up."

"Maybe not. If we find a way out the back offices, past the bars, we can escape. We just gotta get the others first."

"That's why I needed the code—the time override code."

Glancing down at the unconscious Jennifer in his arms, Mikey frowned. "She said they were trapped."

"Unexpected secondary security measures," Zebb said, drear.

"Like the EPF installations?"

"We had no reason to expect them when we staked out the place. The timed lock is always open during the afternoon, so we needed only the initial access code. Besides, the owner was supposed to be here."

"Why grab Marina instead?"

"The cousin? She was our next-best chance."

"How?"

"She was the bank's previous manager. She knew the code, but when she led Ulla and Unna inside, the vault locked behind them. A little girl ran in as well, to help."

Mikey rose from the ground then gently dragged Jennifer's long form beside Starberry Girl by the sideways-turned desk. "Megan's in there too? How long has it been? D—do they have air?"

"As far as I know?" The robber's voice lowered. "No."

Kuso; Mikey felt like he was going to throw up, yet he pushed aside thoughts of the scared five-year-old so he could remain focused on Zebb's dour expression. "Is there a way to bypass the lock?"

"Do I look like a techie?"

The mutant sighed. ' _It sure would help if Donny were here. But even if I called him, he wouldn't make it in time. Which reminds me, where the hell is Raph?_ '

"Cops are moving outside. We have to act now."

"R—right."

Nodding, Michelangelo jogged after Zebb down the hallway at the balcony's back. He passed at least four offices to reach its end: a black door spanning eight feet tall and six feet wide. It looked typical in Mikey's eyes—only shiner, with no knob, more metal, and a flat screen security console recessed into it.

"Dude," Mikey whispered, pointing towards a turtle-like logo on the screen's display. "That's Oswald tech. This is serious security."

"Because of the expensive, easy to hock valuables kept in there from high-profile customers."

"Like who?"

"Does it matter?" With a glare, Zebb shoved the hero aside and jabbed a finger at a blinking, red message on the security console. "See this? The damn thing alerted police ages ago. Now its rejecting my command to bring up the keypad."

"Is it just me, or is it talking to us?"

"Access failure," a feminine robotic voice chimed, causing Mike to stand at attention. "BIO scans invalid. Total vault lockdown. Code Dust Storm enacting in four minutes."

"Wonder what Code Dust Storm means," the mutant grumbled.

"Ulla, Unna!" Zebb cried out. It seemed like a pointless move until Mikey realized the tanned man held a thumb against a circular button on the screen's lower left corner. It was titled 'PA' and two distressed voices returned his call from mounted speakers along the hall.

"Zebb! Have you got the override code?"

"I told you, idiots; only Ivy knows it, and she's out of the country," added another female—an aggravated sound.

"Marina?" Michelangelo added (his voice a little high from hope).

"How do you know my name?"

"Oh, me? I'm, uh—"

"Another robber?"

"What makes you say that?"

"If you were a cop, the other guy would be arrested."

"Not necessarily. He wants you all out too."

"Is that why you're here? Are you a lock expert?"

' _Is she mocking me?_ ' Mikey thought while blanching.

"Actually, your husband called me," the mutant countered, eye ridges furrowed.

"Why would Hugh call anyone outside the police? It doesn't make any—" The woman stopped herself short and the speakers crackled with a loud snort when she drew closer to the vault's inner PA receiver. "If you're part of the same group that help his obsession with the Little Red Robberies, I swear I'll break through this door and—"

"Three minutes until Code Dust Storm enacts."

"As nice as it would be if you could do that," Mikey continued, "we have other problems. Like figuring out these codes."

"Dust Storm is a control measure," Marina added. "If the override code isn't imputed within the next two minutes, the vault will fill with smoke."

"Like SWAT uses for crowd control?"

"Possibly. It's never been used before, and was installed after I quit."

"Speaking of"—Mikey sent the frowning Zebb a sidelong glance—"you knew the access code. Why? Shouldn't it have been changed?"

"It was. Ivy told me the new one."

"That's odd."

"There are reasons. But I don't _know_ the override code. Why"—Marina's stern tone grew breathy, broken—"why isn't Hugh here? Why'd he send someone else?"

"No one's letting him in, Marina," Mikey said through clenched teeth. "Believe me, if he could, he'd be here. He loves you."

There was no reply from the wife, not even a scoff or sob. Shuffling then sounded before Ulla or Unna spoke again.

"Zebb," she all but whispered, "we're cornered. Y—you should go."

"No," Zebb retorted, pushing his thumb harder against the 'PA' button.

"Barry and Rose shouldn't be alone. One of us should be there for them. They…they can't handle Lacio alone."

"Prison would destroy you, Ulla, Unna. I—I can't."

"We'd be taken to separate places anyway. You wouldn't be able to protect us. So leave. Please."

"Unna—"

"I've tried, Zebb. S—she won't listen. And she has a point."

"What about our baby?"

The vault's feminine voice almost drowned out Zebb's weak question with its two minute reminder. Michelangelo would've swore he misheard the tattooed man—only, Zebb shivered with a sob, leaning his forehead against the metal door separating him from his loves.

"Zebb," the blondes said in unison, "we're standing here, staring at a little girl who's too scared to speak. If that's how our baby's future starts, then we'll forever live in shame."

"How redemptive of you," snapped Marina in the distance.

"We never meant for things to go this bad," Ulla or Unna retorted.

"Now we're facing the possibility of choking out. Bet your baby is so proud."

"Uh, Marina," Mikey interjected, cringing at Zebb's growl, "antagonizing isn't going to help."

"No, contacting Ivy would. But she won't get off her flight for another six hours."

"There must be another way." With a glance at the digital clock counting down, the mutant hissed as if burned by its small number. "Less than a minute. And I bet the police are itching to enter."

"I got an idea; keep away from the door." Zebb released the 'PA' button to load one last magazine into the AK-47 once slung over his shoulder than backpedaled until the hero met him down the hall.

"Are you crazy?"

"If the lock loses power, it loosens its hold."

"You expect the girls to shift all the inside cylinders?"

"It's our best chance. Now move!"

Mikey stumbled into the wall when the rifle's barrel pushed him off balance. He covered his ears at the shrill cry of bullets, and ducked to keep his bare head protected from ricocheting shells. Of course the Man Without Pain needn't be mindful of such things (though he probably bled like any other mortal), so the mutant used him as a shield.

Once the onslaught ended, he then peered around the broad figure, eyes set on the sizzling control panel. Its cracked screen flashed green, gray, white, and stripes, yet the countdown continued between the glitches.

"Is it saying something else now?" Mikey asked while nearing the door.

Yup. The panel now displayed a smoke content whenever the screen flickered—just below the clock—and from what he could tell it entailed a concentrated amount of Carbon Monoxide and Dioxide—as apparent by the long green bars under their names.

"U—uh, Z—Zebb," the hero croaked, pointing at the words 'Dust Storm enacted'. "I think things just got worse."

* * *

Hugh sent Donna a hard look and pulled her further from the other police on Broadway. "Do I look like I give a fuck about how swamped Doughnut is in Hell's Kitchen?"

"I thought you'd be a little interested," the wide-mouth blonde replied, prying at his fingers around her arm. "Damien and Noah went to help and it's sort of a war zone right now."

"The Forty-Fours and PDs can destroy themselves. Right now, all I care about is getting Rina out."

"What about my family?"

Teeth gritted, the detective craned his neck towards Blaine behind him. Their glares met like a warm and cold front, though Donna broke up the storm by standing between the men.

"Bishop's sent troops," she announced. "They're mainly for Hell's Kitchen, but I overheard on the radio that he means to send a few here as well, in place of the negotiator."

"You're shitting me," Blaine seethed.

Slowly, Donna shook her head. "That's why everyone's standing their ground, despite the slowed activity inside."

"Mindless drones," Hugh spat as he hit a fist against the window of a car at the group's side.

"Figured you two weren't listening to the news, so here I am."

"We gotta get in there before the EPF arrives."

"I'm not fond of them either, Hughy, but—"

"You don't understand." Hugh shared a look with Blaine then stared down Donna's wide green eyes. "I called a friend. He's in there helping and…the EPF _can't_ catch him."

"Could that be why things go so quiet?"

"Maybe."

"Is this the same friend we stole for in December?"

Knowing lying would be pointless, the detective nodded. "One of them. H—he's helping me take a stand against the EPF and—"

"I'll go."

"What?" Donna could be reckless—worse so than Blaine—yet Hugh wasn't prepared for the firm, determined look she flashed.

"You and Blaine stay here. If you're seen missing, you could get in trouble. But no one will suspect me. I'll sneak in, give you an overview of what's happening. Warn your friend."

"And if the robber still has leverage?" Blaine added, challenging.

"I'd like to see him catch me," the blonde teased with a sly grin.

"Donna, you don't have to—"

Donna shut Hugh up with a snort-laugh. "Have some faith. I can handle field work."

"Yet you're always stuck at a desk because of your big mouth…and rash behavior."

"Don't talk to me about rash behavior, Bling Blaine; you aren't any better."

"Still…" Hugh's heavy eyes drifted towards Diamond Bank, its silent, damaged façade crushing his chest.

"Remember when I was twenty-one?" Donna asked abruptly. She earned Hugh's quirked eyebrow, though he didn't respond since he knew she'd continue regardless. "I was a super green fledgling being forced into the NYPD. Parents weren't happy about what I'd done up until then and I thought the whole deal would be a drag. Until I latched onto you."

Hugh's eyebrow raised higher, his throat tightening as the woman sent a rare sheepish smile.

"I didn't always walk the straight path, but you did it with style. It gave me hope that it could be fun, and when we completed our first assignment together, I felt what you'd been preaching to me since day one: joy in helping."

"Hugh, style?" Blaine interjected. "We talking about the same afro boy?"

"Don't hate the curls, Bling Blaine." Hugh formed a smirk, but couldn't maintain it. Sighing, he met Donna's gaze again then fingered the wedding ring in his pocket.

"You're known for supporting underdogs," the blonde added softly. "From ex-gangers to simple thieves, you fight for them. You try to understand. I trust your judge of character. That's why I helped in December. It's why I'll help now."

"Are you sure?" Hugh whispered.

"Yup. So if you two could create a little distraction, I'd appreciate it."

Donna flashed a trademark smile before rounding the car that sheltered them from the other officers. She was surprisingly quick and quiet while approaching the bank, so Hugh faced Blaine, unable to frown as he said,

"Told you she'd make a good addition to our circle."

"That was six years ago."

"And she's been valuable since. Now how should we cause a scene?"

"Here's a thought."

Blaine shifted, pulling Hugh backwards by his trench coat until he shoved the detective's head against the hood of the car. Its cold bite numbed the impact, and yet something behind its ferocity left him unsure if the blonde meant his rage or was really good at faking it. Guess he was going to find out.

* * *

Although Michelangelo told himself not to panic, the gasps and coughs over the PA system made his head spin. "Kuso, kuso, kuso!" he cried, beating the cruel security console. "Open, dammit!"

"Everyone, stay low," Zebb screamed. Unfortunately, they no longer had a means of knowing if their voices reached the trapped quartet inside the vault.

"What now?" Mikey croaked.

His wide gaze shifted to the tanned man in black, and he inhaled sharply at the distant stare Zebb gave the metal door. ' _For a man who isn't supposed to feel pain, he sure seems crippled._ '

"Zebb!"

"Good luck, Figo; doubt his mind is home right now."

"Hoshi?" Mikey spun, slack-jawed. He watched the pink and black heroine gimp down the hall; however, his smile died the moment his eyes fell on what she gripped in her gloved hands. "I—is that?"

"Lose something?" Starberry Girl countered without missing a beat. She tossed him his black cowl casually—as if his green complexion was unimpressive—then glanced over her bare shoulder. "May want to put it on quickly. We have two bionde heading our way."

Shoving the head piece on, the hero asked, "Two what? And do—do you really have no questions about"—he cringed—"me?"

"I'll question you later. First, tell me what you did to this thing."

"It wasn't me; it was Zebb," Mikey defended while pointing a finger at the still man. "He thought his gun could open it."

"So it's indefinitely stuck?"

"Not sure. The lock's active, but the room's started some code called Dust Storm. It's filling with smoke, carbon dioxide."

"Damn amateurs," a new voice interjected. High, nasally, it sounded like it belong to a nerd—that is, if Mikey was the kind to stereotype. Good thing he wasn't because the fit woman who ran between the trio looked less like a bookie and more like a partier, even in her police uniform.

"Who are you?" Mikey questioned.

The honey blonde quirked the side of her large mouth. "Someone who's apparently going to save lives. Call me Donna. Now back off."

"For what?"

"On second thought, do you have anything to pry this panel face off with?"

"I have this," Mike offered after digging through his utility belt.

"What a weird knife," Donna grumbled. She poked it, shrugged, then proceeded to shove it under the metal frame around the security console.

"It's called a Kunai. It's—"

"Japanese," Starberry finished. Tearing her attention off Michelangelo, she crossed her arms, flinching. "How do you expect to open this thing, Biondina?"

Donna cracked her neck sideways and spoke as if on speed, "Class threes usually eat up a lot of time, but seeing as how I'm bypassing and not breaching, this shouldn't take any more than, oh, a few minutes."

"Is that so?" Hoshi was clearly unconvinced.

"Be thankful this is old Oswald tech and no grinding or lances are involved. I wouldn't have time to go out for tools."

"Old tech?" Mikey's eye ridges rose behind his cowl. "There's a BIO scanner on the inside, and you're calling this old?"

"The scanner must be a separate installation. Those are a recent development. Judging by this set-up, the main security must've gone online in, say, oh-five?"

"How would you know that?"

Donna didn't spare Starberry a glance, instead focusing on the slew of colorful wiring behind the cracked screen she'd just freed. She then reached towards its center and said, "I was interning there at the time. Got to see many things."

" _You_ interned at one of the world's leading cybernetics organizations."

"Before I was fired."

"For what?"

Donna smiled over her shoulder as she produced a short switchbox from the wires. "They considered me a security risk," she said, pulling out the thickest wire from the box.

Instantly, the vault's noises ceased, silencing the weak coughs over the PA. The blonde unhooked another wire then placed it in the new empty hole. Mikey had no idea why, but a soft rumbling signified movement from inside. Donna backed up in time for the door to budge. Though the movement was subtle, it gave rise to hope—hope which resurrected Zebb from his shock.

"Ulla! Unna!" The tattooed man barreled by Donna to slip his fingers through the new gap.

He pulled with a ferociousness that bulged veins from his bald head until the several-hundred ton door met the wall. Dense smoke billowed out from the vault like a white veil, burning, poignant, as it filled the hallway. The group began hacking in seconds, and Mikey feared how the others were faring in the heart of it.

"All of this was in there?" he called out through the haze.

"I unlocked the door," Donna added from behind. "It's all I know about the system, so I couldn't stop the smoke."

"Meaning: it'll keep generating?" Starberry Girl yelled, her hoarse voice already far ahead.

Donna coughed deeply. "Yeah!"

' _So we find the others and get out before we pass out ourselves. Easy enough. Least the smoke makes for great cover._ '

Besides, he had special filters installed in his cowl's lenses (an unknowing present from Donatello). Pressing a button on the side of his head, Mikey skipped the various filters until he reach thermal vision. Then he could clearly spot three wandering bodies marked by yellow and red glows against deep blues.

"Zebb, you're closest. Take a few strides left; you should reach Marina."

"I'm here for my wives," Zebb countered with a growl and cough. Regardless, he did as told, kneeling down when his foot caught Marina's downed figure.

Mikey dashed forward along with Starberry and guided the man towards Ulla and Unna's body before he glanced down at Hugh's wife. The curvy woman curled herself around Megan, as if protecting the child from an explosion. They remained still—so much like the figures from Michelangelo's past.

Even so, he refused to freeze up like in July and checked their conditions by removing his glove to bring his naked hand to their mouths. ' _Still breathing. Good. But they need immediate medical attention._ '

"How do you know where everyone is?" Hoshi asked through slight wheezes.

Mikey's head jerked up to see her glance around. Maybe she was seeking him, since she apparently couldn't sense his quiet moves beside her.

"Thermal vision," he said once she ventured towards the day gate across the vault's center. "Come back this way. I'll hand you Megan then carry Marina. Jennifer and Donna can take them from there."

"And our would-be robbers?"

Mikey's gaze fell on the man who'd dragged Ulla and Unna away from the safe already. "We'll help them."

"Are you serious, Figo?"

"Trust me, Starberry. While this was the biggest mistake of their lives, they don't deserve prison. The smoke will coat the bank. That and the others will serve as distractions while we escape through the top."

"This whole mess is their fault!"

"But everyone deserves a second chance, right?"

The heroine remained quiet as she knelt by Marina—whether in anger, frustration, or acceptance. She huffed, yet allowed Mikey to hand over Megan. "Whatever, Figo. But come next Dust Storm, I'm taking point."

"Sure," the mutant said in an undertone.

He sent Hoshi a smile she couldn't see then lifted Marina from the ground, pulling her close as the duo exited the vault for their next move.

* * *

 **A/N:** And safe! For now. *cackles* Next Chapter, " _Phantoms_ " follows the aftermath of this endeavor. We say goodbye to some characters (for a while). Mikey begins to question how honest Hoshi is being. Don admits he knows the truth about Nightwatcher and Turtle Titan. And Hugh asks for a meeting that can change his life forever. Stay tuned, and don't forget to leave a review! :D


	28. Phantoms

**A/N:** Here you have it: the wrap-up for the Circus folks and a little drama. ;)

 _WOFL_ \- I'm glad! There's plenty in store as well, so prepare yourself. :D

 _Sciencegal_ \- Marina and Mikey are a possible goldmine of witty retorts. We'll see what happens...

 _D_ \- Thanks! That bank scene was a pain in the ass to write. LOL. I wouldn't call Marina Hugh's _total_ opposite. Then again, I know her better. XD There's more to happen with... _them_. Anyways, enjoy the next chapter!

* * *

 **Chapter 27:** **Phantoms**

Donatello felt sick—more so from keeping anxiety in check than from the two pots of coffee circulating through his system—and he had a hard time keeping his hands from seeking Raphael's throat.

"I should've known," he told the hothead seated on an examination table in the Lab. "I mean, I guess I've always known, to a degree, but chose to ignore the possibility because, hey, it would be a _horrible_ idea—even for you two."

"What'd ya expect, Brainiac?" Raphael spat, wrapping the last stretch of gauze around his upper plastron.

Don's vision lingered on the white line that kept his brother's fractured ribs secured then returned to organizing paper stacks along his main desk with a huff. "How about the truth, Raph? Or maybe I thought you'd actually listen to Sensei's pleas."

"Dun't twist things around. Cuttin' cold turkey ain't easy."

"And I wouldn't know?"

"Who could tell, what wit' yer busy schedule an' all?"

"Raph." Don spun, a sigh within his tight chest. "You aren't stupid. Why would you be there—alone? In the middle of… _that_?"

"It wasn't planned." Growling, Raphael gripped the knee protectors sewn into his worn leather pants. "I needed ta let off steam, an' I just stumbled inta Hell's Kitchen. Wasn't my fault Cowgirl 'n her posse planned a battle royal wit' some PDs."

"You shouldn't have been there."

"Can ya imagine the body count if I wasn't?"

The genius' sigh released—a shaky action. "There're others who would've helped."

"Like Starberry Girl 'n her sidekick? Ya know they were elsewhere."

"That's another issue that needs addressed when Mikey returns."

"But it ain't who ya meant."

Donny met Raph's narrowed eyes with a frown. "While bitter to admit, no. In the end, you could do very little. Tabitha and Sven helped bail you out and the EPF had to intervene afterwards."

"So now the EPF get ta be the city's heroes?"

"Just for a moment, until things at home are straightened out."

"Are ya serious?"

"We aren't complete, Raphael! We do our best work as a team. Solo is too dangerous. Hell's Kitchen taught you why. Wh—what if Sven and Tabi hadn't been there? What if you had been arrested? What if you had been too injured to call for help?"

"Well, I wasn't."

"But you could've been. Then what would I tell Sensei? 'Oh, Raph and Mikey didn't listen. Now the EPF has them. Don't worry; we'll get them back in a few years, so focus on your Chemo.'"

"That's unfair."

"How?"

"Mike 'n I got nothin' ta do here! Maybe ya can handle bein' on the sidelines 'cuz ya got Sensei ta focus on. What about us? All we can do is sit around, prayin' he dun't get worse. An' look at the state he's in now."

"Raph…"

"I…I could spend time here when Nia was around. But I can't anymore. It's literally divin' me insane."

"Obviously," Don noted thinly, gaze set on the bandaged knuckles Raph rubbed. "Did she know?"

The red-masked Chūnin hesitated before nodding.

"What about Mel?"

"Not until recently."

The genius shook his head then braced himself against the table behind him. "Do you have any idea how disappointed Sensei would be if he knew?"

"We're Phantoms, Donny. I—I can't just quit that. Neither can ya."

"I haven't quit," Donatello snapped with a sharp glare. "I've prioritized."

"So have I. Ya watch the news, ya know it's comin'."

"What is?"

"Now who's playin' stupid?"

"I—It's not our fight, Raph."

"Since when? This is our city, Donny. We've spent eight years workin' for it, an' the boundaries we've set have been scrubbed in a matter 'a weeks. Gang violence alone has—"

"Increased in attacks and thefts. I know. Still, you can't quell it by yourself."

"I haven't been alone. Not really. Besides, returnin' things ta normal was never the aim."

"Then what was?"

"I guess…I needed ta be in a situation where I could make a difference. Here, I'm helpless. Out there, I can—I can keep someone from losin' a loved one or their livelihood. Ya know me; I can't remain idle."

"Which is precisely why I had my suspicions. Look, I don't blame you two for caving. What upsets me most is that you lied about it, and disrespected Sensei's wish."

"We didn't do it ta defy him."

"He's…he's barely breathing. If he doesn't make it, would you want him to die knowing the one request he made went overlooked?"

"He ain't gunna die," Raphael said hurriedly.

"I don't want it either, but we should consider possibilities," Don muttered, "just in case."

"He won't leave us before Leo comes back. He can't…"

"Donatello, Raphael, you have received a call."

Donny's head jerked up at his wife's dead drawl, and he watched the half-dressed cyborg approach with a Shell Cell in hand. Her blue eye surveyed the wounded hothead before regarding the genius—which likely signified her acceptance of another's medical handiwork—then she tossed the phone in her lover's direction.

"Did you finish speaking with Tabi and Sven?" the tall mutant asked while catching the device.

"I did," she replied.

Donny met her expressionless face, but she said nothing more, blinking instead. "We'll talk later. So who called?"

"Hugh Reese. He is curious as to whether or not you can join him tonight."

"For what?" Raphael interjected.

Melody sent him a lazy look. "A meeting between you and his family."

"You mean"—Donny paused for air—"his wife and the Williams?"

Calmly, the blonde nodded, so Raph did everyone a favor and cursed.

"This is 'cuz a what happened at Diamond Bank."

"I get the feeling Marina's been very insistent since speaking with Mikey," the purple-masked Chūnin added under his breath.

"She gave Hugh an ultimatum."

"Really?" Don shared a look with Raph. "What kind? When?"

"A while ago, apparently. She is threatening divorce if she cannot meet us. Claims he should not keep such secrets."

"It was only a matter of time, huh?" Raph's words were snide, yet softened by an apprehension that drew his clan's even gazes.

"It isn't right for Hugh to lose his wife over us," said Don.

"I take it we're goin' out then."

"Yeah. Let's call Mikey."

* * *

"Hey, this is where I first saw you," Michelangelo noted while passing through Chinatown's ornate gate. It looked so big compared to a bird's eye view, and he craned his neck towards its golden tiles lit by red paper lanterns. "Hard to believe that was three weeks ago, huh?"

"Concentrate, Figo," Starberry Girl chided from ahead. "We have to be on time."

"Or else what?"

"Or else Nom de Guerre will cut us loose and no deal will be setup for Zebb and his family."

"Can this guy be trusted?" Trotting up to Hoshi, Mikey furrowed his eye ridges behind his cowl. "I mean, I trust you, and you say he's good. But…What does his name even mean?"

"You talked me into helping. Now you're going to complain how I do it?" The heroine huffed, probably rolled her eyes, and took a sharp turn down a wide alley on the left.

"Wait up!" Mikey called. He found her side again, although her Chi said his presence was unwelcome. "Are you mad?" he asked, soft.

"Why would I be?" the green-haired human countered. "The smoke worked. We got out of that place before any big media caught up and we missed the EPF by seconds."

"Why do you sound pissed then?"

"Who says I'm pissed?"

"You aren't mad about Zebb, are you?"

Hoshi's thin lips pursed. Then, she took another turn down a smaller alley.

"Come on; the guy shot at us, but he had good reasons," the hero said, following her to a store front lined with security gates.

"I'm not mad over being shot at; I'm shot at all the time."

With a snort, Hoshi kicked the metallic shield then headed towards a thin, iron railing beside it. There, she descended several concrete stairs that ended at the narrow door of another store's basement. Her combat boot broke the knob without missing a beat and she left it for her companion to close after he checked the area for traffic.

"But you _are_ upset." With a silent sigh, the hero switched his lenses to night vision. He matched Hoshi's footsteps through an open room littered by abandoned VHS tapes and ancient take-out containers. Clearly, this wasn't the first time she'd met someone in said place.

"Why do you care?" asked Hoshi over her shoulder. "We're helping Zebb. Like you wanted. Shouldn't you be happy?"

"You have a strange idea about happiness."

"So you aren't?"

"Not really. I'm relieved Zebb's family will get a chance for a new life, but I can't be happy when others aren't."

"I'm a big girl, Figo; I'll get over it."

"Still"—Mikey raced forward so his night vision caught the faint eye reflection behind the heroine's mask—"we're friends, right? I wanna know why you're upset. Maybe I can make it better."

"Friends?" Starberry spoke through pressed lips and a whisper. She paused, but then avoided the hero by entering a door beyond the first room and conquering a short hallway. "You hardly know me."

"Meanwhile, you apparently know more about _me_ than I thought," Mike snapped behind her.

Hoshi halted at a rotting office door, not turning around when she sighed. "That doesn't have to change anything. We can go on like before, keep things as they were."

"And pretend I'm not real?"

"It has nothing to do with you being a mutant. Trust me."

"I do. Maybe that's my problem."

Starberry sighed again, which brought her shoulders down.

"It seemed like you were aching for a friend before we met," Michelangelo continued in a low tone. "But are you really content with a casual partnership?"

The green-haired heroine shrugged. "Why not? We're having fun."

"Is that the only reason you hang around me?" Mikey couldn't keep hurt from his voice, nor could he act as if Starberry Girl's actions didn't sting as she tightened her grip on the door handle in silence. He watched her ponytail shake, frowning at the truth. "You flirt and laugh and play, yet…you're not happy at all, are you?"

"Like I said, we don't have to change," whispered Hoshi hoarsely. "We don't need to talk about me, only the mission."

"Hoshi—"

Michelangelo had a better chance of catching a wet fish than he did of catching Starberry Girl. She twirled away from his outstretched hand and entered the office space—all without meeting his gaze. She then approached a desk set up at the room's back, where someone in a hoodless cloak sat.

Upon closer inspection, Mikey detected an anomaly about the figure's white face. It wasn't real. At least, not most of it. The doll-like eyes were flat, painted so it gave the illusion of three sets on one head, while its three noses and two mouths were perfectly uniform. It looked creepy—horror-movie-worthy even—yet Hoshi nodded with no issues.

"Nom de Guerre," she addressed.

"Any longer and I would've left," Nom de Guerre replied, his tone ambiguous of gender. "I sent the tattooed one after you."

"Sorry; told Figo to hurry."

"Are you Figo?"

Mikey refrained from shuddering when Nom de Guerre's lifeless eyes fell on him, yet blanched at the nickname. "Actually, I'm Turtle Titan."

A pause passed before Nom de Guerre's center face met Hoshi again. "You sure he doesn't want a new name as well?"

"Funny," Mikey mocked, crossing his arms.

"Your price is steep, Nom de Guerre. I can't afford his debt too."

The mutant caught Hoshi's frown—a subtle action. He meant to ask her what she meant, except heavy footsteps drew everyone's attention towards the door. Zebb entered not long after, with a small group in tow.

"I said I only needed to meet with the family's head," Nom de Guerre spat. The figure huffed more so in exasperation than anger, and straightened in his seat as Zebb's family surrounded their protector.

"They don't listen well," Zebb replied, eyeing the two children and women.

"Actually," Rose started, "we came for Titan and Starberry Girl."

"We wanted to say bye," Barry added, mostly towards the ground.

Nom de Guerre huffed. "Then do so outside. I have business to attend. Matters of"—the middle face bore into Zebb—"payment."

"We already discussed that," Hoshi told the three-faced figure.

"Yes," replied Nom de Guerre in a tone as smooth as his head movements, "but given your track record over the years, I would like to hear what Zebb can offer. So everyone except him, leave until I call you back."

"You made me come here so you can kick me out?" Hoshi's mouth hung agape then snapped shut when Nom de Guerre remained quiet. "Non mi insultare, ragazza; il tuo debito è precarioso in questo momento."

"Calmati, stronzo. Ti ripago quando posso."

"Hold it." Michelangelo glanced between Starberry Girl and Nom de Guerre. "De Gear speaks Italian too? What'd he say?"

"Nothing important, Figo," Hoshi growled.

"Hardly," Nom de Guerre followed up. "Were I to retract your debt, you'd be found in this city within a matter of days. I'd say I've been very patient and charitable."

"What debt?" The mutant reached for Hoshi, but she avoided him a second time by twirling. She passed him, her lips downturned, and kicked the office doorframe before leaving.

"Hurry up!" she yelled from beyond the room.

' _There is a lot I don't know about her, isn't there?_ ' Michelangelo thought. His focus remained on the door frame before settling on Barry and Rose. He sent them a smile, allowing them and Ulla and Unna to go on ahead of him.

"Nice meeting you, De Gear," he teased with a lopsided smile.

The figure scowled, saying, "It's Nom de Guerre, Figo."

"Tomato, to-mah-tow." Shrugging, the mutant rotated on his heel, satisfied with Nom de Guerre's bang against the desk, then sent Zebb a sincere grin. "Hope you get a better deal than Starberry did."

The broad man ran a hand over the tribal tattoos across his bald head. "Any deal will be better than what we had at Lacio." Pausing, he gripped Mikey's shoulder. "Thank you, Titan. If it weren't for you, I would've lost everything."

"Donna was the one who hacked the vault. All I did was talk some sense into you."

"It meant a lot, showing me your true nature."

"Well, the security cameras were out, so I thought 'Why not?'"

Zebb chuckled, although no humor lit his smile when his hand fell. "You had every reason to leave me for the police. I'm in your debt for guiding me, Ulla, and Unna out."

"Prison isn't a place for birth," Mikey noted softly. He glanced towards the group standing outside the office—specifically at Ulla and Unna—then back at Zebb. "I have no idea how that works with conjoined twins, but congrats. I pray the three remain healthy."

"Yeah, me too," Zebb muttered.

"Are we giving your family a new life or not, Zebb?" Nom de Guerre rested his real chin atop his interlaced hands, his fake eyes unnerving.

Mikey waved him off then spared Zebb an encouraging nod before exiting the office. Starberry slammed the door shut behind him and he was forced into Ulla and Unna when the heroine pushed him aside to snap kick the barrier. It shuddered from old age, yet didn't disintegrate like it seemed it would.

The mutant would've commented on it. He wanted to and he could've—if it weren't for the all-knowing glare Hoshi sent while leaning against the doorframe.

"This is real, isn't it?" Rose's soft tone came from the group's midst, where the hairy girl glanced at everyone with wide, shining eyes. "We're going to have a real home."

"Yes," Ulla and Unna said together. Their middle arm reached forward to ruffle Rose's long bangs, the right one wrapping around Barry's high waist.

"Seems like a dream," the lanky boy noted.

"It's what you deserve," Mikey added.

"Even after all the trouble we put you through?"

The mutant rewarded Barry's hesitant glance by snickering. "I'm used to it. Just make sure you maximize this chance."

"Believe us, we will," Unna said. The middle-aged blonde rested her head against her twin as Ulla brought their left arm over their stomach.

"I kind'a feel bad, though," said Rose.

"Why?" Hoshi asked a little too rudely.

The young girl drew her hands close to her hairy chest, saying, "The woman who was helping us at Warner-Frost, we never got a chance to thank her."

"She didn't do anything," noted Barry, tart.

"But she meant to. Now, she'll never know how thankful we were that she wanted to be our friend."

"Never say never, Rose." Mikey grinned. "I can tell her."

"Really? How?"

"I know her."

"You do?"

"Yup. She's my sister."

"You never mentioned that," Starberry spat from the doorframe.

The hero shrugged in turn, not facing her. "Thought you weren't interested in pasts."

"Is she okay?" Barry added over the heroine's scoff. He glanced at Mikey, but not for long before his eyes averted. "Not like it matters."

"She's stable," Mikey replied with grim words. "I don't…I don't know any more than that. It's complicated. When I see her again, though, I'll tell her everything that's happened, and that you wanted to say thanks. It'll mean the world to her."

"Really?" asked Barry as if in fear of being wrong.

"She saw a little of herself in each of you, so she was quite stressed over what she could do."

"She didn't need to be."

"Isn't that what makes her special?" Smiling, Mikey caught the family's attention and stood straight under their stares. "If I have one critique, it's that you accept help more. Sometimes, you can't handle things on your own. It can actually make matters worse, especially if you force away what could be a good chance or change.

"You're going to become phantoms in this world, lead a secret life like I do. Phantoms need other phantoms to lean on. And who knows, maybe life's preparing you to help others that need to become phantoms as well."

"You think we're collected enough to help someone else?"

The mutant gave Ulla and Unna firm nod. "You can be, when the time comes."

"Thank you, Titan," the women replied in unison. Their left arm found Rose to complete their family line up, and Mikey couldn't help smiling like a fool knowing they had a better life ahead of them.

If only he could say the same for his family...

* * *

 **A/N:** Mikey's speaking prophetic words to Ulla and Unna. And none of you will understand until years later. ;)

Next chapter is called " _Truth_ ". It's ALL about the meeting mentioned earlier, so if you've been itching for Meg, Jen, and Rina to meet the Hamatos-it's time! :D


	29. Truth

**A/N:** Hope you laugh and then bang your head against a wall. :P

THANKS FOR THE REVIEWS! *hugs everyone*

* * *

 **Chapter 28:** **Truth**

Kaiya couldn't sit still. Whether in her bean bag chair or on the sofa, she found herself shifting and grinning. Daddy didn't like that very much—he never did—so he sent mean looks across the family room whenever she moved. But why should they bother her?

Uncle Mikey was coming over!

And the best part? So were Mister Raph and Mister Don. To meet Mommy and Aunt Rina. Sure, Megan was already asleep, but Kaiya would tell her all about the visit come morning. Oh, she could hardly wait!

"You're supposed to be asleep, young lady," Daddy chided.

Kaiya craned her neck upwards so she could smile at the grumpy grown-up. "I can't sleep!" She laughed, mostly to keep her thoughts off the nightmare that had woken her earlier, then skipped towards Mommy on the sofa.

"Kai, baby," Mommy said in a gentle voice. "Do you…Have you already met these people Daddy and Uncle Hugh know?"

The little blonde nodded without hesitation. "Plenty of times. Uncle Mikey is lots of fun and Mister Don is really nice. And playing with Mister Raph is a lot like playing with Daddy."

"Is that so?" Mommy sent Daddy a weird look while rubbing Kai's pajama sleeve. Was she mad or amused?

"They both hate losing games," added Kaiya.

"I'm surprised," a low voice said. It belonged to Aunt Rina and she sounded very upset when everyone looked her way. "Kai's so excited, yet she managed to keep them a secret for months."

"Not without help," Mommy grumbled. Kaiya frowned, having noticed how Mommy and Daddy stared at one another before Mommy faced Uncle Hugh beside Aunt Rina. "You met them first."

"I did," Uncle Hugh answered while sending a nervous smile towards his wife. "Last September, they helped me with Nia's case."

"Miss Nia is nice, too," interjected Kaiya loudly. Why Mommy and Aunt Rina sent her funny looks, she didn't know, but what harm was there in telling the truth? "I met her at Miss April's farmhouse. Along with Silver Sentry, some cyborgs, a—"

"Hold it." Eyebrows lowered. Mommy raised a finger below the blanket wrapped snug around her. "When did you go to a farmhouse?"

"In March. We went to their birthday party!"

"I thought that was a camping trip."

Uncle Hugh scratched his neck, chuckling under Mommy's hard stare. "Uh, Blaine?"

"Naw, man. You dragged me into this mess, you explain."

Instantly, like someone had stepped on his toe, Uncle Hugh's dark face scrunched into a glare, his hand waving. "We've been caught, Blaine, but don't act like you regret anything. Rina, Jen, I'm sorry. We've lied. We've misdirected. Still"—the tall grown-up softened his voice—"the Hamatos deserve our support."

"Since when do strangers merit more support than you own wives?"

Kaiya cocked her head when Aunt Rina pushed back her wavy hair and wondered what 'merit' meant. It sounded like a Pokemon.

"It's not that simple, Rina," Uncle Hugh added with a sigh. "They do a lot for this city, and possess some of the bravest hearts I've ever encountered."

"So brave they don't even surface for recognition?"

"The spotlight isn't their way."

"Right; they're ninjas."

"They are!" Kaiya cried, not understanding why Aunt Rina's words sounded mocking. "They do so many cool things, and Uncle Mikey has even agreed to train me until Mister Leonardo comes back!" The child noticed her father all too late behind the sofa; she blinked at the hand he 'sliced' over his throat and blinked again once Mommy twisted in her seat to look at him.

"What training?" the older blonde asked.

"I'll explain later," Daddy answered, thin eyes set on Kaiya. He wasn't happy, was he?

"A lot of complications come with knowing them," Uncle Hugh said.

"Obviously."

"Marina, please." Uncle Hugh spoke softly and he touched Aunt Rina's bare elbow, although she turned away. "I never meant to hurt any of you, you know that. But what was I supposed to do? Give them up? Abandon them?"

"They work outside the law," the tanned grown-up said, gripping her upper arms. "As a cop, isn't it your place to bring them in? It would've saved us trouble."

"Believe me, it wouldn't have." Uncle Hugh shook his head before his kind eyes found Kai. "Things would actually be a lot worse if I had. Think about it: had it not been for Leonardo, Kai would've been alone in Black Lotus."

"Hugh!" Mommy yelled. She glanced over Kaiya then shook her head at Uncle Hugh. "We don't bring that up in front of her."

"He's right, though," said Kaiya, strained by memories as she twiddled her fingers. "Mister Leonardo made me feel safe. H—he let me sleep by him and promised to look after me. He even taught me that song…"

"The one I've been hearing you sing?"

Kaiya nodded towards her mother.

"They're heroes," added Uncle Hugh. "Despite not knowing you, they would sacrifice their bodies for your safety. Michelangelo proved that today, Rina. So please, keep an open mind when they get here."

"I still don't believe you, about them being mutants," Aunt Rina shot back flatly. "The boy I talked with sounded too much like a college punk."

"Right," Mommy said with a funny laugh. "The whole mutant part. Almost forgot that."

"We didn't tell you the truth to be funny," Daddy snapped.

"Sure, truth." Aunt Rina raised her eyebrow like she often did when she heard Kaiya tell a lie. So, did she really not believe them?

"Just wait until they get here," Kai told Aunt Rina, stomping a bare foot. "You'll see; they're—"

"Someone call for Hamato's Ninja Turtle Services?"

Kaiya's frown turned upside-down in seconds. While the grown-ups were speechless, she cheered her friends' names, whirling to meet them behind her. Uncle Mikey flashed a wink her way from the living room's other side, but was pulled back by Mister Don when he stepped forward.

"Mikey, manners," the purple-masked mutant said, eyeing the grown-ups.

Right; Mommy and Aunt Rina were probably weirded out a little, huh? Maybe Kai could help! With a nod, the little blonde spun and raced towards Mommy. She tugged the older blonde's moon-print pajama bottoms, pointing at the Hamato brothers.

"The light green one with the orange mask is Uncle Mikey," she said hurriedly. Mommy must've found them really interesting because she wouldn't shut her mouth, and her eyes were so wide, it was like she was standing by a pretty Ferriswheel. "Then—then the tall one, right? With the stick—"

"It's called a Bō staff, Kaiya," Mister Don butted in.

She sent a grin at his straight face. "That's Mister Donatello. He's the smart one."

"I'm the pretty one," Uncle Mikey added as Kai left her mother for Aunt Rina.

"And you see the dark, troll-like one with knives in his belt?"

"Who ya callin' a troll, kid?"

The little girl ignored the mutant's following growl and paused only for a second since Aunt Rina was so still. "That's Mister Raph. He likes to punch people."

"Actually"—Mister Donatello chuckled, tugging Mister Raphael back by his arm—"there's a lot more to Raph than his scowl."

"Yeah; deep down, Raphy Boy is all mush. Just ask Nia."

Giggling, Kai glanced over her shoulder, where Mister Raph gave his youngest brother a dry look.

"I got no problem punchin' ya in front 'a company, Shell-for-Brains."

"And this," said Uncle Hugh after a small silence, "is the secret we've been keeping."

No one else spoke for a long while. Why? Weren't Mommy and Aunt Rina excited? How could they not be? Kaiya pressed her lips together then faced the tanned grown-up who stood by the living room's main window.

Aunt Rina's thick eyebrows slowly rose higher and higher until her eyes finally moved from Mister Raphael. They landed on Uncle Hugh, rounder than usual.

"They're aliens," she said in a dead tone.

"Wh—what?" asked Uncle Hugh.

"There are aliens in the living room."

"Mutants, Rina. They _were_ turtles."

"No"—Aunt Rina backed up closer towards the open closet and pointed two fingers at the Hamatos—"you see, things like that don't come from Earth. The only explanation is that they're aliens."

"Maybe in another dimension we're aliens," Uncle Mikey said with a shrug.

"Please, Mikey," Mister Don butted in, "that premise wouldn't fly in any dimension."

"How would you know? Have you been to them all?"

"Don't act smug just because you've visited the most dimensions."

"Just sayin'. If we were super heroes in one, anything is possible."

"Guys"—Uncle Hugh waved for their attention—"let's lay off the interdimensional travel for now. We should consider baby steps."

"Why are there aliens in the living room?" Aunt Rina was acting so silly now. She wouldn't let Uncle Hugh near her and stayed as far away from the mutants as possible, like they'd bite. "Why? Are there aliens? In the living room?"

"Mutant turtles," said Uncle Hugh slowly. "Say it with me."

"Aliens."

"That's wrong."

"S—so th—these are the, uh, ones who helped you find Kaiya?" Mommy's words were soft and shaky, but she didn't move like Aunt Rina.

"Yes," Daddy answered with crossed arms.

"Okay…"

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Misses Williams, Misses Reese." Mister Don almost reached for the older blonde, except he paused after taking a step forward.

"Don't be rude, Jennifer," Mommy told herself. She gripped her knees tighter, licking her spread lips. "Don't be rude. Mother taught you better than that. So they're green. You're white. You probably look funny to them."

"Um, Misses Williams?"

A wide, clown-like smile spread over Mommy's face—wider than Miss Donna's and hers was scary wide. "I am Jennifer," she announced while pushing back her long, curly hair. "You are guests. Hello, guests."

"Hi," the Hamatos said in weak voices.

"Aren't they cool, Mommy?" Kaiya asked, jumping by her mother's side.

"Guests should be offered drinks," Mommy continued without glancing sideways. "Are you thirsty? Do you want a drink? I can get you drinks. Unless you're hungry instead. Oh, let me see."

"That's, uh, quite all right, Misses Williams," Mister Donatello started as Mommy left the couch. He went ignored, though, so the blonde grown-up shifted through several plates, crafts, and boxes on the coffee table until she found a round box.

Lifting it, she hunched her shoulders, saying, "Turtle Truffles?"

The mutants remained silent.

"Idiot," Aunt Rina scolded from the closet. "You don't even know if aliens can eat chocolate."

"We aren't—"

"Oh my gosh!" Mommy cut off Mister Raphael and took back the box by hugging it to her chest. "You're right; I could've poisoned them. Are you allergic? Do they"—her voice lowered to a loud whisper—"do they give you the runs?"

Daddy beat his face into his hand as the brothers took a step sideways, away from the tall blonde. "Oh my god, Jennifer."

"We have a lot to go over," said Uncle Hugh while placing a hand on Mommy's shoulder. He showed his smile around the room, stopping only when he came face-to-face with Kaiya. "And I think I know who wants to tell the story the most."

* * *

Hugh could tell Marina wasn't breathing properly, especially by the end of Kaiya's and Donatello's explanations. It worried him, but mostly because he feared the woman fought the truth before her. The last thing he wanted was for her to reject them, and his heart wrenched whenever she brushed off his attempts at comforting her.

' _Damn_ ,' he thought, hating how Rina wrung her pajama shirt's bell sleeves, ' _Jen's handling things better. Okay, so she's addressing herself in third person to keep functioning. Still, it's better progress than…_ ' The detective sighed then brought his attention to Donatello, who now sat on the sofa thanks to Jennifer's insistence.

"Oh, i—it's just you," Jen said after exiting the kitchen. She glanced at the tray of hot tea she carried then back at the genius. "W—where'd the troll and loud one go?"

Hugh snickered alongside Donatello; even Blaine had a snort in store as his wife set the tray on the cluttered coffee table. The curly-haired woman, however, showed no interest in being funny and glanced around, honestly looking for the missing duo.

"Kaiya took Mikey and Raph to her room," Donatello said. "She has a turtle collection, apparently? And wants to show it off."

"Yet she left you behind," continued Jen softly.

Donny accepted the shaky tea cup she offered then smiled. "I told her we had something we needed to talk about, as grown-ups."

"With me?" Words unsure, Jennifer joined her husband in an armchair. The officer helped situate her long body on his lap and once they were both comfortable, the woman added, "What about?"

"Kaiya," the mutant replied, frank. "And this goes for both you and Blaine."

"Donatello," started Blaine through a biting tone.

"We're telling the truth now, aren't we, Mister Williams? I want everyone on the same page from now on."

"Let's hear what he has to say," Jen noted while gripping her own tea cup. The pressure turned her knuckles white and her cleft chin shook, yet she lifted her head, prompting the genius to go one.

"You have an amazing little girl," said Donatello as he leaned against his elbow pads. "She's strong to have survived Black Lotus, and despite everything, she's still able to smile. Believe me when I say I want her safe and happy, but…"

"To keep her that way, she must remain involved with the Hamatos," Hugh concluded. Marina sent him a hard stare, although Blaine's glare is what caught his focus. "You know I'm right. And if you mention anything about it being dangerous, I'll point out that anything Kaiya does from now on is dangerous."

"Wh—what does he mean?" Jennifer turned towards her husband, bringing her tea cup closer.

"How much do you know about Kaiya's powers?"

The curly-haired blonde flashed Donatello a troubled look. "What powers?"

"You know about her healing, right?"

"Well, sort'a. It's a little abnormal, but—"

"It's more than that." Sighing, the mutant disregarded the warning behind the officer's eyes and continued after sipping his tea. "Her wounds mend in seconds. Even fatal ones."

"H—how would you know that?"

Blaine brought his trembling wife closer, so their gazes wouldn't meet. "Remember how she left the hospital so quickly?"

"I thought things weren't as bad as they seemed."

"No. They were worse…Sh—she should be dead."

"Blaine!"

"It's true, Misses Williams," Donatello interjected. When the mother faced him again, he swallowed thickly. "I didn't get a clear view back then, but Nia told me. And I saw the lab. She was in the epicenter of an explosion. Her organs were severely damaged and the amount of blood she lost would've killed anyone. But she survived, healed in a matter of days."

"Oh my god…" Jennifer's whisper held a severity that made Hugh sick and he leaned against the sofa to keep himself grounded from his flashbacks of being trapped.

"Between that, her speed and strength, she's considered a super human now."

"Speed? Strength?"

"Mikey's said she's lifted Hugh over her head before. He's also seen her run about ten yards in less than ten seconds."

"What? H—how is this even possible?

"A drug called Recro-12." Donatello's expression paled until he looked more gray than green. He opened his mouth, yet didn't speak again for several seconds. "It was being used at Black Lotus as a means to cure illness."

"Which illness?"

"All of them. A scientist named Lombardo had this grand idea that it would end all pain, even re-grow lost limbs. And she would be held in high esteem because of it. It was a good aim, I admit, but…it came at a high price that cheated many people out of their lives without their consent."

"I—I don't understand. You said the drug kept Kaiya alive, gave her these…powers."

Slowly, Donatello shook his head under Jen's wide eyes. "It worked and at the same time it didn't. It's hard to explain. Honestly, I'm not sure about the why. Only how it ended. Without getting technical, it added a marker to Kaiya's DNA, altered it."

"And this only happened with her?"

"No. My brother Leonardo and I were also exposed. It changed us too, but not to the degree of Kaiya."

"So you three are the only survivors?"

"Of that version. An earlier one kept infection from building up when their cyborgs were made, but anything bigger usually ended in—"

"Wait"—Jen half stood from her seat, glancing towards Hugh—"now _cyborgs_ are involved?"

"How do you think all those impossible Little Red Robberies were executed?" the detective countered.

"Black Lotus was responsible for that spree?"

Hugh nodded at Jennifer. "Hence why it stopped when we got Kaiya back. The ones responsible can't really be held at fault, though. All they really wanted was a place where they felt accepted."

"And now they have that," added Donatello, straightening on the sofa. "Tabi and Sven returned home, and Mel"—the mutant grinned a little—"she came back to me."

"Uh, so…you're with a cyborg?" Jen asked carefully.

"Melody's not 'a cyborg', Misses Williams. She's my wife, and it isn't the weirdest thing to happen to my clan."

"I can't even imagine the weirdest thing that's happened to you."

The genius chuckled. "It's a list, for sure. On it is the basis for Recro-12. Its core came from my sister, Raph's wife. She's…not fully human."

"I—is she a mutant too?"

With a sidelong glance towards Marina, Donatello said slowly, "No."

Oh, dear. Hugh drew in a deep breath to prepare for Marina's next moves, if there would be any.

"She's half alien," the mutant followed up.

Yup, he had to move quickly. Hugh raced after his wife into the kitchen before she could reach the coat rack. His long arm scrambled to turn her around; but she violently opposed him, twisting any way possible so he couldn't see her face below her thick waves of hair.

"Marina, stop, please!" he cried while capturing her cheeks. She froze between his palms and glanced up with paralyzing brown eyes that kept them silent for a long moment.

"I—I can't do this, Hugh," Marina whispered.

"No, no, no, no." Hugh couldn't keep pleading from his tone. "Don't say that, please. I _need_ you."

"So do I, Hugh. But knowing them, knowing…" The woman released a ragged laugh that shot a shiver up Hugh's spine and sunk his stomach. "I was wrong to insist. I'm sorry."

"You wanted to know who I was helping. Now you do."

"So that makes things better?" Rina tried shaking her head, except it seemed she barely had strength to stand. "The secrets were only part of the issue. Now the secrets are facts. That means nothing will change. You'll keep pouring time into them and your work. And that's all you'll have."

Hugh shook his head. He could see Mia before him, speaking similar words. They were haunting statements that'd lingered with him for over a decade and they burned in his mind to the point where his voice cracked.

"You're still going to make me choose?"

"Yes," the woman spat. "Why do you have to give all yourself to them?"

"I'm a cop, Marina. I need to help. We can do more good together than by ourselves."

"You wouldn't be by yourself."

Wiping his thumbs below Marina's wide eyes, Hugh brushed away her hot tears. "You can be a part of the team. Isn't that what you wanted?"

The woman tensed below her husband's hold, gaze darkening. "I don't know if I can handle that kind of team…"

No. She could. She just wasn't aware of it yet because of shock. That had to be the reason. She wouldn't leave him after learning the truth. Not after how hard he fought to keep the past from repeating. Not after all they'd been through….Right?

Like slow-moving gavels, Hugh's hands fell with an intensity that left him feeling sentenced. He had little mind to watch his wife grab a coat and head for the kitchen's exit, and even less mind to move while he struggled for oxygen through his tight throat.

' _What was that saying? The truth will set you free? What bullshit._ '

"Dammit, Hugh; aren't you listening?"

Blaine's voice pulsed through Hugh's head. He cursed while turning, glaring at the blonde man who'd entered the kitchen. "What's wrong?"

"The Hamatos split," the officer continued in an undertone.

"Why are we whispering?"

"Because Doughnut and Patterson just arrived at my doorstep."

"What the hell do they want?"

Blaine glanced aside—a potent action that signaled bad news. "They're here with a warrant for your arrest."

Speechless, Hugh glanced up from the snarling blonde. In the kitchen doorway stood two familiar men; one in blue, the other in black. They both wore smug smirks over their face as they approached and Hugh countered them with a snort.

Doughnut laughed when he revealed a pair of handcuffs, wagging his fat finger. "Hugh Mosi Reese, you have the right to remain silent. And for once, you may wanna exercise that right."

* * *

 **A/N:** Kaiya's so happy Mommy and Aunt Rina finally know the secret. But...things just get worse from here on out.

Next up is " _Off Guard_ ". Mikey has a little chat with Mel then sets off to meet Hoshi. They have some matters to discuss. ;P


	30. Off Guard

**A/N:** Ooh, last chapter did very well with reviews. So here's a treat. ;)

 _D_ \- Hope your mom got that Santa working. Or settled for a new one. LOL Not much ups from here on out, unfortunately...

 _Duckie_ \- No cops were called! Wait...there were. But not for that reason! Heh. Least if one woman makes you sad, the other makes you laugh. Right? And you know my thoughts on my baby Hugh...

 _Zathura_ \- The feels have just begun! ;D

 _Sciencegal_ \- Hugh's months are about to get rougher. *whistles innocently*

 _WOLF_ \- Well, Shell, thanks! LOL

.

* * *

 **Chapter 29:** **Off Guard**

A sudden weight over Melody's legs lured her gaze from an open medical textbook to an orange-masked mutant turtle, who balanced his carapace on the short bench she resided on. Obscured partially by shadows cast from the desk lamp, Michelangelo stared upwards, a pout across his wide mouth.

It hardly seemed justified; he was the one with his head in her lap.

"What are you doing?" the cyborg questioned flatly.

"I have a question," the male countered. He didn't bat an eye at the strange position. Then again, Mel didn't expect him to.

"I am studying."

"So? It's important."

"That is unfortunate."

"Come on, Mel. It's been a bad day with Splinter unconscious, Nia gone, and Hugh being arrested. Humor me."

Melody sighed—a long, begrudging action that left her almost depleted. "Why not ask one of the others?"

"Because," Mikey started in a grumble, "I—it's something only you and Raph would understand. And all he'd do is tease and scold me. Least with you, I know I'll get an honest, serious answer."

"You…want my advice?" Damn; the words weren't a growl like she wanted. The mutant was encroaching on her personal space and dwindling what little study time she could spare. Meaning she should kick him out. Yet something about his wide blue eyes left her paralyzed. That is, until he chuckled.

"Don's right; you make the cutest expressions when caught off guard."

Well, that killed the enchantment, so Melody wasted no time shoving the Chūnin away. He lost his precarious balance, rolled, then landed face-first on the concrete floor of her and Donatello's bedroom. He groaned, though the agony wasn't a concern.

"What do you want?" she asked, stern while ignoring the above-average heat in her face.

Mikey pushed himself up and rubbed his round nose tenderly. "Ow, I swear, you can be just as bad as Raph."

"Your point?"

"None, I guess." The mutant sniffled. "It's cool you can be relaxed with us now, don't you think?"

The cyborg was careful to keep any silly impulses at bay, like grinning. So, she returned Michelangelo's large smile with a huff then crossed her arms. "You have five minutes for an explanation."

A jump later, Mikey stood tall. "Just five?"

"Four minutes, fifty—"

"Okay! Okay! Sheesh, I don't need an internal cyborg countdown."

"Actually, I do not possess an internal clock."

"Really?" Quirking an eye ridge, the Chūnin leaned forward. "You're telling me, you can leap roof to roof and lift a Mac truck, but can't say what time it is?"

Melody sent him a simple blink. "Yes."

"…That seems like a waste."

"Michelangelo!"

"Alright, on it." Michelangelo took a seat beside Melody again, this time like a dejected child. The cyborg couldn't rationalize such a sudden twist in mood, but before she questioned it, the mutant continued without facing her. "You're used to keeping people at arm's length."

"I try," Mel retorted, unable to gauge the conversation's direction. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"Well"—Mikey inhaled—"I don't like doing that. E—even to outsiders. We can learn a lot from others. And maybe if we were more open, we'd fight a lot less."

"Or more often. Sometimes, the arm's length is a buffer, and ignoring it is what causes problems."

"Maybe. But I'm smart enough to know where the buffer's needed and not."

"Are you?"

Michelangelo chuckled at Melody's mild smirk, wringing his three-fingered hands. "I have a friend—someone I really, _really_ like."

"Starberry Girl?" Really, the name felt strange on Mel's lips; it was ridiculous.

Yet the Chūnin smiled as if entranced by it. "Y—yeah. She's really amazing, and fun, and brave, and…no matter what I do, I can't get her to open up—not in the way I want."

"Sounds like a lot of work."

"Melody." Blue eyes flashed like hot lightening beneath an orange mask, pointed as they met the cyborg's cool gaze. "I gotta know: what changed your mind about Donny? What made you finally believe he was someone worth trusting?"

My, what a question. Dare she share it? ' _Do I even remember? It's been years since that time…_ '

"Uh, Mel?"

Melody inhaled then blinked for focus. "I do not recall when I realized," she answered smoothly. His stern expression fell in the seconds it took her hand to find her marriage bracelet, yet she added over his groan, "Right now, it feels as if I have always trusted him, though I know I did not. No matter how hard I pushed, he was always there with an open hand. It was annoying at first. Seemed like he was stalking me."

"Which he kind'a was."

The cyborg didn't fight her smirk, just an urge to chuckle. "Everyone else in my life had given up on me. Hell, my parent or parents before Gray left me in a dumpster, and every employer I knew wrongly accused me of theft."

"Wait"—Michelangelo's voice cracked—"y—your real parents threw you away? Like, literally?"

"Save the sympathy," Melody spat. "It was what it was, even if were related by blood. I don't care why they did it."

"Something tells me you do…"

The half-blonde shook her head, running robotic fingers through the chin-length hairs she no longer felt. "I had only myself to rely on. There's something comforting about being the only one who can let you down. But then that Damn Mechanic had to insist. He wouldn't give up, said things like 'There's good in you; I've seen it.' Thought he was insane."

"Between you and me, Don's a special kind of crazy," Mikey remarked with a sly grin. He bumped Mel's shoulder then sobered when his chuckle died. "So, him not giving up—that's what changed your mind?"

"Yes. I figured if he held on for three years, there was no stopping him. He stayed honest and did not flatter or suck up."

"Flattering isn't Don's style."

"I know…now. To think, he had nothing to gain from me, yet persisted on friendship. I still find it weird."

"He was himself," Mikey mused under his breath. Melody cocked her head when he knitted his thick eye ridges together, and watched carefully as a light ignited behind his gaze, brightening it like his sudden smile. "That's all. He was just…Don. Well, I can be honest too, and I know that's what Hoshi needs."

"Figured it out?"

"You bet! Next time I see her, I'm not holding anything back."

"Sounds dangerous." Melody's remark went either ignored or unheard. By the time she turned on the bench, Michelangelo had leaped from his seat then dashed for the bedroom door. He twisted its brass handle in haste, yet paused before exiting.

"Thanks for the answer," he said in a tone that overturned the female's stomach. She could barely nod under the genuine appreciation, let alone act nonchalant. He sensed as much too. "You're wrong, by the way. Everyone gains from knowing you, in ways you don't realize. You care as much as I do about others, just in a different way. That's inspiring. So don't sell yourself short; you're very tall, Sis."

What a weak joke. The orange-masked mutant laughed before leaving, although Melody found it far from funny—especially given the end address. She returned to her books once the door clicked shut, their text jumbled in her spinning mind as she fought for control over some strange feeling. The overwhelming nature was unnerving, jittery, and she pressed a metallic palm against her heated forehead like a brace.

It did little good; the moment her first tear plopped against the open page below her, others quickly followed. And she couldn't help but smile like an idiot.

* * *

Michelangelo never could handle the silent treatment. It made him antsy and persistent. Maybe that's why he kept glancing towards Starberry Girl on Columbus Park's monkey bars.

"You called me here, Figo," the green-haired heroine snapped.

"Finally, she talks," Mikey countered, flicking his cape's end.

"I'm not in the mood to play."

"Usually you are. Is this because of last night?"

Hoshi sighed then banged her boot's heel against the bars she balanced on. "Zebb struck a deal; the whole family's off to…God knows where. Why would I be bothered?"

"I never said Zebb was what bothered you, did I?" Quirking his lip, the hero rounded the parallel bars until he could see his companion's face. Well, most of it from below. "It's not Zebb, is it?"

"Yeah, so what if he laid my ass out? With my own weapon, at that? If Madam V were here, she'd have my hide for being caught off guard."

"Being off guard doesn't have to be a bad thing."

"Tell that to my tingling limbs."

"So you were beat. It happens. You're human, after all…aren't you?"

Hoshi snorted; not quite the reaction Mikey desired, but at least the tenseness in her crossed arms eased some. "I'm all human. Every last particle."

"So why would your maestro punish you for being such?"

"It's 'maestra'. And she wouldn't call it torture, per say. More like extensive training."

"Sounds terrible." The mutant flashed a sheepish smile under the heroine's pointed stare. "Do you feel like you've let your teacher down? Is that why you're acting like this?"

"Like what?"

"This!" Mikey's arms stretched forward as if referring to her, except she wasn't on ground level like him.

"If anything, you're the one acting weird, Figo," Hoshi countered with a stomp from her boot.

"I'm just trying to make sense of your attitude."

"It'll pass if you leave it alone. Come back in a few days. It'll be like nothing ever happened."

"There you go again, wanting things to be so-called 'normal'. What is normal to you anyhow?"

Starberry turned away with a scoff then glanced everywhere, save the mutant's frown. "Us tag-teaming," she said, soft. "Taking down thugs and investigating the EPF. It's been nice having someone with the same mission as me."

"Mission? So you think we've been spending time together for the sake of a mission?"

"Why else?" The heroine shrugged with an ease that punctured Mikey's optimism. "It makes sense. If people are on the same side, they should team up."

"Being a team is more than a mission. It's a brotherhood."

"Not the way Madam V taught me."

"Hoshi." Mikey collected himself by planting his boots on the asphalt and thumping the monkey bars for the human's attention. "We can't be a real duo without honesty. Wh—why didn't you tell me that you knew I was a mutant?"

"Why didn't you tell me your sister was Sarah Brown? It makes sense now, when I think about it. That whole term paper excuse was lame."

"Hey, you didn't suspect anything and—wait." Eye ridges furrowed, the mutant used the parallel bars to meet Starberry on the monkey bars. "How'd you know her name was Sarah?"

Hoshi backed away until she ran out of room. "Lucky guess?"

"No. You're the volunteer she's been talking about. You're Sonya Fisher!"

"Sort've?" the heroine muttered. She brushed a hand through her pale green ponytail, groaning as Mikey came another bar closer to her.

"This is crazy. You're the pizza delivery girl."

"What a joy it is to know what I'm referred to as in your circle, Figo."

"You were a small topic. I liked you, okay?"

"You"—Hoshi paused—"did?"

"Yeah. That hasn't changed. And don't think I've forgotten my question either. Since when did you know I was a mutant?"

Licking her lips, the heroine said, "Since we kissed."

"Really?"

"You think I wouldn't be able to tell that texture was real? The color I could excuse as paint, not that. Come on, Figo, give me some credit."

"And you said…nothing about it."

"You didn't want me to know. Wearing a mask means I shouldn't. So why go that extra mile?"

"Why? The question left Mikey's lips heavy and weighed on his body like a rock load. "Firstly, because it's common courtesy. Secondly, because…"

Hoshi shifted on the monkey bars. "Because?"

"Because you—you just should've told me, alright? Why does it bother you that I know you know?"

"You don't know anything."

"That's my point! Can't we change that?"

"Why do you want to change things so badly?"

"Maybe because I wanna be your friend, a real friend. Not two people on a mission."

"Bad things happen to my friends."

Mikey paused after venturing forward another monkey bar, so close he could almost touch the drear heroine. "You're scared I'll leave and you won't have my company anymore? Should I be flattered or—"

"Neither. Look—"Hoshi raised a glove to wave it—"people die or more on. It's life. So I've learned to enjoy the company I have and then do likewise."

"You can't say you haven't had one constant relationship. At least one."

"I've had a few; they didn't end well."

"Not all of them are like that."

"I know; I still have Mum."

"See?"

"That doesn't guarantee you'll be staying."

Though Starberry glanced away, Mikey could detect subtle color below her mask's rim and grinned. "You _are_ worried I'll leave."

"I never said that, Figo," Hoshi said through clenched teeth.

"But it's what you meant."

The female turned around completely, so the only proof of her blush was a memory.

"I'm not a leaver, in case you want to know. Or a…dier?"

"That isn't a word. Not sure leaver is, either—not in that sense."

"Whatever. Point is, I'm still here, and I have plenty of long-term relationships."

"What kind?" It was cute how a tinge of jealousy sharpened her edge.

"Family, mostly. Actually, all family."

"No friends?"

"Cut the teasing. My friends turn into family. I'm not one to invest in dead ends."

"So why are you still here?" Hoshi shrugged one arm, like the thought wasn't a bother, but her tone had already betrayed her.

"I don't see you as a dead end, Starberry," Michelangelo said softly.

He risked reaching for her wrist. He captured it with no retaliation and turned the petite figure until she faced him again. Smiling, the mutant then pulled off his cowl, leaving nothing to obscure his sincere gaze when he peered into her mask.

"I want to know you," he started. "This past month has been one of the greatest in my life. And that's saying something, considering what's happening at home. With you, I feel a little lighter. I like that. But if you don't feel the same way, we should cut ties here."

"Thought you said you weren't a leaver," Hoshi countered in a whisper.

The mutant shook his head. "If you choose not to trust in me, that's your choice. That makes you the leaver."

"You must really like me, Figo."

"Does that mean you're staying?"

The human tried acting nonchalant. She failed. Her shrug looked more like a nervous tick and it unbalanced her, forcing Mikey to seize her arms. Instinct pulled her back a little too roughly, which made them both stumble for footing on the monkey bars—using each other as braces.

"I—I'm fine, Figo!" Starberry scolded. Still, she hesitated to release his biceps. "So, like, what do we do now? I'm not used to sharing and shit."

"We could start by exchanging names," the mutant added with a lopsided grin. "I'm Hamato, Michelangelo. Instead of Titan or Figo, you're free to call me Mikey."

"I like Figo better. It fits."

"What does it even mean?"

"Essentially? Cool guy."

"But in a mocking way."

"Depends on how I use it."

"Okay. Now what about you? Will you introduce yourself?"

Hoshi's budding smirk died, as if pained by the notion. She heaved a long sigh then reached for her black eye mask. She unbound it from her ears, slow in raising her face again, and Michelangelo was stunned by the eyes that met him.

They were rounder than he imagined, close-set for a doll-like feel. Their color wasn't cold or dark. The moon let him clearly see they were a medley of earthly greens with a ring of brown around the center. And they captured him, dangerously so.

' _Oh, I can feel it. I'm going to say or do something stupid._ '

"Your eyes are really blue."

"W—what?" Mikey blinked then drew back from Starberry. When had he gotten so close anyway?

"Nothing," the heroine retorted, her freckled cheeks stained red. "Anyways, this is my face. And it belongs to Sophia Moretti."

Mikey raised an eye ridge. "Thought you said you were Sonya."

"I said sort've. We can get into that later. For now…I really need to go lay down."

"Okay, I understand; this"—the mutant gestured towards his covered plastron—"is a lot to handle. You need time to recoup."

Hoshi snorted, planting a boot on the monkey bar's end as she placed her mask back on. "As if, Figo. You aren't that great."

"I'm great enough to get your name."

"Don't overdo it, or I might not meet you next time you call."

"Oh, you'll meet me," Mikey said, matching her impish grin. "We have too many fun adventures in store for us."

The young woman didn't reply, but she did laugh—not chuckle or snicker, but laugh. It was a relieving sound, comforting, and it roused a smile when the mutant watched Starberry Girl's slender form flip off the monkey bars.

* * *

 **A/N:** Don't often mention it, but I enjoyed writing Mel's scene with Mikey. She's slowly integrating into the clan and doesn't know what to do with herself when others show acceptance. It's foreign for her. *smiles* Now, Hoshi? Heh. She's also making progress.

" _Secrets_ " is next, which is much heavier than this chapter. First, we're tossed into Gavin's mind. (We all know how much we love _that_.) Then we jump to Raph, who has a talk with Tabi and Sven. Lastly, we're teased by Bishop...and see Hugh again. Review and enjoy! :D


	31. Secrets

**A/N:** Ga. Vin. *twitch* Endure, guys. Just...endure.

 _D_ \- ROLF Took them long enough to exchange names, eh? ;D

 _WOLF_ \- Aw, thanks for sayin' so! There's more of them to come. LOL

 _Sciencegal_ \- It's Mikey. Who can resist his charm? Only terrible people. Oh, and Soap has some corny tendencies she tries to hide. Not always successful, though. :D

* * *

 **Chapter 30:** **Secrets**

Gavin checked his cell phone again and sighed. Two missed calls were listed on the touch screen device he held. Both of them from Raphael.

' _Persistent bollocks, isn't he?_ ' Gavin thought while dismissing the alerts.

"Did you get a hold of them yet?" Mia's voice twisted her husband's neck until he faced her top-heavy body propped along a hospital couch. The brunette rubbed her bony, exposed thighs then leaned further against the pillows that braced her back. "It's been a week."

"They've been busy, I guess."

"Really?" Blanching, Mia returned her attention to the steady-breathing figure in a hospital bed. "Raphael has a right to see her, Gavin."

"With you always by her side, it's best he doesn't."

"What's that mean?"

The redhead adjusted his round spectacles and glanced towards Nia so he wouldn't have to meet his wife's boring brown eyes. "It means I'm doing him a favor."

"I—I don't understand what the big deal is. Why"—the woman slurped—"why can't I meet him?"

"It's…complicated."

" _Everything_ with you two is complicated."

Gavin frowned at how roughly Mia wiped her tired face, interlacing his fingers. "It's the lives we lead, apparently."

"Despite your efforts?" The short-haired brunette quirked a pink lip, although it seemed bitter rather than amused.

"Enough milling, Mia," Gavin countered. Fatigue weakened the control over his natural accent and despite years of temperance, it shined through his words as if he'd never left Ireland. "I'm fecking knackered, so don't push yer luck."

"Don't cheek me," Mia retorted with a huff. She knew enough Irish slang to use the term 'back talk' right, although her fake accent was terrible.

Groaning, the man buried his face into clammy palms, not bothering to hide his drawl any longer. "Everyone has secrets, Mi. We just have to live with them."

"Why? Our secrets are…what gave Nia trouble…while we were gone."

"She didn't need to know. Still wouldn't, if it weren't for Bishop."

"So in a perfect world you…would've never told her?"

Gavin paused before lifting his head again. "Maybe. What about you? You were the one who suggested we wait."

"Even so"—Mia blotted her slack chin with her handkerchief—"she has a right to know…where we came from."

"Those parts of our past are hidden with reason."

"But hiding things will only…poison our family. Nia's doing it. She picked it up from us. It'd be better if—"

"Would it?" Rising from his chair, Gavin eyed Nia's pale face with a heavy heart then directed an arm towards the intravenous line feeding her saline. "This is her dealing with her own secrets. Would she be better off knowing her uncle was murdered by gangsters for his Johnson views? Or that her father had to fake his own death to escape his sect?"

Mia had no answer. Of course she didn't. She only frowned and gripped the handkerchief in her lap while staring at her daughter.

"We're disowned outcasts, Mia," added Gavin, voice lowering. "And I never wanted that negativity in her life. I didn't want…I just wanna protect her."

"She can't stay in a plastic bubble, Gav," Mia whispered. "She won't grow that way."

"I'm not fond of how life makes people grow."

As the redhead sighed, Mia scooted further up in her seat—maybe so she could meet her husband's gaze more easily. "I know you spent a lot of effort…into building up a name as Gavin Anders," she started in a tender tone. "You became the opposite…of what the Doyles' wanted, a doctor, and had this perfect little imagine…in your head of us…living a peaceful life. When Nia entered the picture, it changed, just slightly. You saw the three of us, only us, and never considered adding another member. Sometimes, though…you must accept that things are out of your control. And your image isn't the set future."

"I could still fight for it."

"Or embrace its change." Mia sighed. "What's so horrible about these Hamatos?"

"They aren't horrible," Gavin muttered. "I just don't trust their way of life."

"Why?"

"Keelan…"

The couple fell into silence broken only by faint beeps hailing from Nia's electrocardiogram. They struck his chest deeper and deeper until he could no longer watch her sleeping form. So he brought his focus to his unsteady hands and kept it there as Mia finally spoke up.

"Since I don't know Keelan's full story"—she swallowed—"I can't say anything about it. But I can express…how disappointed I am. Raphael isn't responsible for Keelan…and Nia loves him. I married a better man than one who…would keep love from his child…"

' _I have no problem with Nia falling in love,_ ' thought Gavin while reaching for his phone. It felt hot in his hands, though that could've been because of him and not from it sitting in his slack's pocket. ' _It's the chancer she's fallen for, the life she's heading towards. It's too much like the Doyles, like what I left behind…I can't live that again. As for Nia_ '—the man glanced up just for a moment before gripping his phone tighter—' _She's visited hospitals too often recently. Her body's been slow in replenishing its blood and we could likely be sent home before she wakes. But when she does…_ '

She'd head straight for the phone, Gavin knew. So maybe he should beat her to it. Perhaps then everything could be laid to rest.

* * *

Moving burned Raphael's insides like hot iron rods prodding his ribs; however, the hothead had no will to stop conquering rooftops. Sure, he stumbled on occasion. That said, idleness waxed nerves, and it kept him from staying in the Lair, despite Donatello's disagreement.

"You alright?" a female asked over the rumble of rocket boots.

Raph laid a hand over his pectoral scute, tracing a crack in it as he glanced up from the rooftop. "I'm fine, Tabitha," he muttered to a slender figure poised in the night air.

"You sure?" she pressed with a hand in her dark afro.

"Yeah!"

"No need to yell! Sheesh. That's what you get for taking a cyborg's fist to the chest. We told you to wait, _Nightwatcher_."

"That kid didn't have five minutes for ya ta show off."

"I needed momentum, idiot, or else I wouldn't have had the strength to knock Hunt down. Clearly, you know nothing about flying."

With a blanched expression, Raph pointed at himself. "Turtles don't fly. Closest I've ever come was glidin', an' I hated it 'cuz I ain't too fond about bein' at the wind's mercy."

"Not this girl," Tabitha said before snickering. She somehow added force to the flared rockets that formed her feet and they propelled her into an aerial back-flip, which she 'popped' up from. "I make my own wind."

"Must be nice," noted Raph flatly.

"Why are you giving her a hard time?" a male interjected.

Huffing, Raphael turned towards Sven on his left. The cyborg's hair was every bit as orange as his goggle-like eyes, whose light bore into the mutant with their undetectable pupils. No matter how many times they met, the mutant found them creepy as hell.

"Why are you even following us?" Sven continued. "Our ions were properly discharged. Besides, it's clear Donatello wanted you home. And your ribs obviously hurt."

"Yeah, well"—Raph scrunched his nose—"considerin' the bad news my clan keeps gettin', I thought it best I steer clear 'a confined spaces. Escortin' ya back ta Baker's was my excuse."

"Shit's really hit the fan lately, hasn't it?" Tabitha seemed ignorant of the glare Raphael sent, and instead used her long fingers to count off everything wrong in the Hamato's lives. "Nia's missing, Leonardo's out of the country, the city's being overrun by gangsters and EPF, your father's…Oh, sorry."

Suddenly sheepish, the cyborg lowered to the rooftop until her rocket boots were quiet, a frown on her dark face. "I just find it hard to believe all that bad stuff can pile up on one family. Melody said Splinter was sick, but…I didn't know he was _that_ sick, enough not to wake up."

"That's Turtle Luck for ya," Raphael spat.

"Are you…?" Sven paused—a poignant action. "Are you really unsure he'll make it?"

"No, he'll make it," the Chūnin all but roared. "He's Sensei; he always makes it."

Raphael was lying. He knew it. The others knew it. Yet they remained silent, looking at one another.

"So your secret was blown, huh?" Tabitha questioned, flippant while she faced the cityscape. "That wasn't because of us…was it?"

The red-masked mutant shook his head. "It was only a matter 'a time. Forget that Donny suspected us from the start."

"He did?"

"A course. He knows us."

"Yet he didn't stop you."

"Maybe 'cuz he knows there _is_ no stoppin' us. He just…waited for his chance ta confront us."

"Mikey got grilled too, huh?"

Though Tabitha's wings weren't attached to her emotions, Raph could swear their sharp 'feathers' lifted with amusement. "Yeah; when he got back yesterday. Ya saw how quiet he was tonight, like a scolded puppy."

"Thought something was wrong."

"When'd ya pick up that clue? When ya could hear yerself think?" The mutant chuckled alongside Tabitha, yet sobered by the time she turned.

Her robotic yellow eye focused on Sven first then Raphael, her words stiff. "D—does this mean you won't be the Nightwatcher anymore?"

"Why so concerned?" countered Raph.

"Just curious. With what happened, it seems like a bad idea to stay grounded. So to speak."

"Don't gotta tell me. Mike 'n I have tried reestablishin' our boundaries, but those punks aren't scared anymore. They're pressin' further 'n further, an' even Don knows it'll reach a point where Hun 'n the Forty-Four's heads will clash. An' it won't be pretty."

"They had no problem starting a riot in Hell's Kitchen," Sven added, cool yet bitter. "Who's to say what collateral there'll be when they _do_ rage an all out war."

The thought left a pit in Raphael's stomach and his fists clenched to keep his mind off last July with their pressure. "I won't stand for somethin' like that. Ever."

"Neither will we." The carrot-top spoke in earnest haste—so unlike usual. He'd uncrossed his bare arms to go stand by Tabitha in the time Raph took to face him. It seemed his orange eyes glowed like small suns, though the cityscape could've fooled the Chūnin into believing such. "Tabi and I have been thinking about how we helped you."

"Ya mean sabotaged me?"

"Dude"—Tabi's dark eye narrowed—"you were swarmed."

"But ya went in like a bunch 'a Neanderthals. If ya listened ta my directions better—"

"We're supposed to take directions from a guy whose ass we whipped last winter?"

Raph had half a mind to toss his sais at the Nubian woman's smirk, if he didn't fear a return punch from Melody. "If it wasn't for that fat lard blindsidin' me, I wouldn't 'a needed Tabitha's lift. I was thankful for it, but I have ta know: why'd ya interfere?"

"Didn't we already answer that?" Tabitha asked, large lips puckered.

The Chūnin stayed still on purpose, so his imploring gaze would force the duo to continue.

"It didn't feel right sitting on the sidelines while people were being hurt," Sven said in an undertone.

"We stole for Black Lotus, sometimes ourselves, but," Tabitha glanced sideways, "we never killed anyone."

"No, ya just ushered them into Hall F." Both cyborgs flinched under Raphael's biting whisper.

"We…we didn't think of it like that," said Sven. "We thought of it like bringing in stray animals to a shelter."

"Did that make ya feel better?"

Sven shook his head while Tabitha raised her rounded chin, saying, "Had we disobeyed, Stephens would've killed us and others would've taken our places. Like we replaced the cyborgs before us. We weren't asked permission for our body transformations, so don't hold it over our heads when we betrayed Stephens when we could!"

"Like Melody," Raph muttered.

"Why are you smirking?" the yellow-eyed cyborg demanded.

"Testin' ya."

"For what?"

The mutant's smirk grew. "How strong yer remorse is. I'm rememberin' a talk I had wit' Starberry Girl the other day."

"You mean the chick Mikey talks about?"

"She was tryin' ta recruit me for her 'n Mike's team. Said the heroes in New York should unite. I'm startin' ta think she was right. Should somethin' happen between the Forty-Fours 'n PDs, it'd pay ta have an army of our own."

"You want us in that army?" Sven fought a smile, except its hopefulness shined through his tone instead.

"Among a few oddahs. Speakin' of"—the red-masked Chūnin glanced between the cyborgs—"how would ya feel about trackin' down an EPF' prison cell?"

In an instant, Tabitha's single eyebrow rose. "Does this have something to do with Hugh and those terrorism claims?"

"The Hub bombin's ain't his fault. He wouldn't jeopardize his loved ones like that."

"I could gather that much." Rolling a dark eye, the Nubian crossed her arms. "So you wanna break him out? How?"

"We're cookin' up a game plan," Raph answered, dark. "Before ya get involved, though, we gotta talk wit' Blaine 'n his friend Donna."

"Why them?" Sven added.

The mutant met his round eyes evenly and clenched his fists tighter. "'Cuz one 'a them is harborin' some real-life leverage. It's about time we used it."

* * *

Agent Bishop glanced over a lengthy report with a firm nod. "Pleased to see you're making such excellent use of your resources on The Island, Doctor Yahna. Your gene splicing success rate is beyond what I could expect, though I am curious as to why you used Specimen S' DNA in this particular experiment."

Sean Yahna shifted outside a closed, circular door, glancing over his boss then down the empty hall in which they stood. "Want an honest answer?"

The EPF leader quirked an eyebrow.

"Then I'll tell you. The blood showed signs of cancer, right?"

Bishop nodded.

"Well, I was curious if I merged that DNA with a new strand, whether or not it would eradicate the damaged cells or contaminate the whole project."

"And I see here that the results were inconclusive."

The rugged doctor sighed, running a hand through his dark, slick-backed hair. "Unfortunately, I had to terminate the subject."

"I see." Tone thin, Bishop closed the thick file to wave it before his subordinate. "Specimen S' blood is rare and not to be used impulsively. From now on, know is it off limits until I give permission. Am I clear?"

"Where'd it come from anyway?" Yahna countered, brown eyes narrowed. "It's an unusual strand, like it's already been spliced."

"That is my secret, Doctor, so I suggest you stay out of the matter. Meanwhile, you have other projects to preoccupy your time."

"But they're going so well, it's almost boring. Clark's been playing mix and match with everything he can get his hands on. But we have to kill a majority simply because they're too aggressive to control."

Though Yahna huffed, Bishop grinned when a monstrous roar echoed through his memories. "Your earlier beasts worked very well," he noted in glee.

"Only three big ones. The others spliced well, yet had poor obedience. In fact, a little one escaped in transit, though I doubt it survived."

"What?" Bishop hissed. His hands shot forward and shoved the taller doctor against the round door as he glared behind his sunglasses. "You let one go?"

"N—no," Yahna squeaked when Bishop's thumbs lifted him up by the neck. "Like I said, control is hard. It ate its way out."

"Ate?" The answer sounded almost too ridiculous to believe. Then again, his most hated enemies were aliens and mutants. So, scoffing, Bishop released the doctor, tossing the file at his dress shoes once he collapsed. "Don't let it happen again."

Yahna released a long cough then straightened himself. "I won't, Sir. It was an earlier specimen. Now, if the projects don't immediately respond to the signal, they're terminated."

"Good. Now, head back to The Island. Continue with—what did he call himself?—Rojo. I have plans for him."

"Gladly, Sir," Doctor Yahna replied with a grin.

Bishop watched the dark-haired man gather the file and leave, but only because he blocked the door the leader longed to enter. The moment it was clear, he pressed his thumb on the barricade's digital scanner, unlocking it, and entered the small space lit by LED rope lights along the ceiling trim. A familiar sight, for sure, considering the same cell had been used to house Gavin Anders for months. Only instead of being chained to a wall, the new captive was bound to a chair, which remained stationary thanks to heavy-duty bolts drilled through its feet into the ground.

"Detective," Bishop greeted while rounding the chair.

"You should consider painting a wall, Agent," Hugh Reese replied, staring sideways. "It's a little depressing in here."

"I see two days have done little to quell your humor."

"It's one of my charming features."

The EPF leader paused to grin. "Charm will not save you from spilling your secrets," he said in a low, throaty tone.

After a silent sigh, the African-American glanced up with glazed dark eyes. Little water and no food obviously weighed on his health, although he acted nonchalant by shrugging in the chair.

"We have much to go over," added Bishop while bracing his upper-body on the chair's arms. He leaned forward, his fingers tightening around Hugh's chained wrists. "Given the circumstances, Commissioner Powell has granted me complete access. It's why you aren't in FBI custody or a cozy little cell in your precinct, despite being known as a terrorist."

"The Hubs aren't my fault and you know it," the detective spat.

"Yes, I do." While Hugh reeled under Bishop's smirk, the tanned man chuckled. "Frankly, I could care less who's responsible. I legally have the man I want in custody with no supervision, and you'll find my coercion skills are a little…dated."

"How dated?"

"Why not ask Gavin Anders?"

Hugh sent a bitter smile. "Mister Anders and I aren't very good friends."

"But I know who you are good friends with."

Slowly, Hugh's smile dropped until his defiant eyes were all that mocked the EPF leader.

"Again, we have much to go over," repeated Bishop, whispering into the detective's ear. "Starting with: where's my agent?"

* * *

 **A/N:** Some foreshadows have been set and echoes made. Remember the 'stolen' EPF soldier from " _Hollow Hearts_ "? He was also mentioned in " _Finding Balance_ ". *wiggles eye brows* As for Hugh...poor soul.

Next up: " _Hounded_ ". Sophia and Mikey open up to each other a little more, discover a small connection in their pasts. But the afternoon ends on a terrible note...and a roar. Until next time!


	32. Hounded

**A/N:** We've got twenty-some chapters left to go, people. Let's see if we can get them out by New Years, eh? Let the chapters and reviews fly! XD

 _D_ \- Remember the chapter " _Retrieval_ " from " _Hollow Hearts_ "? Noah and Donna couldn't get EVERYTHING out of the duffle bag, including Splinter's DNA. Bishop's had it for months. Meanwhile, Gavin. Gavin is extreme. And a slow onion to peel. It WILL happen, just not fast, so I'm glad you appriciated the little tid bits he did throw out there. :P

* * *

 **Chapter 31:** **Hounded**

Sophia's black mask felt heavy between her fingers. Why? She wished to hell that she knew. Ever since it had been removed for Turtle Titan—Michelangelo—its weight seemed to have increased, and placing it over her eyes left her feeling cemented to her bedroom.

' _I haven't been this hesitant about it since…since Marco. Man, why'd he have to get all serious? It's not like I'm looking to be an item or want anything long term._ '

"Right, Cuddles?" Sophia swiveled in her computer chair until she faced a glass tank filled with dirt and moss below a heat lamp.

The white tarantula inside turned on her seven hairy legs, her many black eyes staring blankly in return.

"Don't give me that look," the blonde chided with a pout. "And I never _really_ said the kiss made my heart race."

Slowly, Cuddles wiggled the stub that remained of her eighth leg.

"I didn't; don't get sassy! Now go eat before I decide against your treat tonight."

Cuddles complied, although Sophia swore she shrugged with disappointment before leaving. "Who does she think she is?" the blonde asked herself while returning to her desk. "Just because she was a present from my last boyfriend means she knows when I want another?"

Wait. Sophia slammed her mask down.

"N—not that I've been considering such a thing. I mean, that'd be silly. So, so…silly…"

Because he was a mutant? No. Being a mutant mattered to Sophia about as much as a pierced ear or missing toe. So why was she so against it?

"I don't think I can go through all the trouble again," muttered the blonde, gripping her eye mask. "I'd rather keep things casual, but…"

She also couldn't deny the attraction. It made her stupid and jumbled her senses. Just consider what happened when she first met Michelangelo's eyes. They'd drawn her like a moth to the flame. She'd never seen such brilliant eyes before and was thankful he seemed to have mistaken their closeness as his fault.

' _I wanted to kiss him_ ,' Sophia thought as she let gravity slam her forehead against her desk. ' _God, this would be so much easier if he wasn't so damn honest. Had he agreed with me, my mind could've pushed these feelings away, so they no longer wondered if his kindness could be…more._ '

With a grim groan, the young woman lifted her head and her mask. "I almost wish I could ignore him. But he'd probably track me down, like a hound. Idiot."

So she had little choice when she situated the eye piece over her face. If anything, at least it would hide her expressive eyes as she talked with Turtle Titan.

* * *

Michelangelo fiddled with the Stealth Watch that'd helped smuggle him inside a dormant construction site near Madison. It was all he could do to keep from nodding off in the late afternoon hour. Though Starberry Girl had met him as asked, she remained so silent that the hero could count the swings of her Star Staff without watching her walk the I-beam frame they loitered on.

"Really, Hoshi?" he started, tossing an arm sideways. "We agree on friendship and suddenly you're mute?"

"Nothing's happened since we last met, Figo," the heroine muttered. She swung her staff for the thirtieth time then balanced it on her shoulder. "What do we have to talk about?"

"Plenty."

"Like?"

"How about"—Mikey pretended to think—"your involvement with the EPF? Or why you don't like making friends? How'd you go from Italy to New York? Or—"

"Va bene, zitto," Hoshi interjected with a growl.

"You could also be a little clearer with your Italian. I'm sure you just cursed me. Or named some food I don't know."

"Actually, I was being nice."

"You interrupted nicely?"

"No; I told you to shut up."

"See?" Mikey wagged finger at the heroine's swaying ponytail. "We have a lot to learn about one another."

"You sure you want that? I have a lot of problems…"

Hoshi fell into silence after a sigh—a drear action that matched the overcast weather. But Michelangelo wouldn't let his smile die and instead kept his tone light.

"We can always start easy," he said. "Like your hair. Is it naturally blonde or green?"

The heroine twisted at the waist to meet his smirk with a puckered look. "Blonde, genius. It's a temporary dye I wash out at night."

"Aw, you get prettied up just for lil' ole me?"

"You wish." Although she mirrored his smirk, it didn't quite hold her usually impishness as the mutant stood.

"Another thing I've been wondering is where'd your name come from? Starberry is pretty…unique."

"Oh, that." The heroine glanced away, a hand covering her cheek to keep it hidden from the hero beside her. "It's—well."

Mikey raised an eye ridge beneath his cowl and stifled a laugh when Hoshi groaned, adding,

"I read a lot of romance comics when I was little. Mainly, manga."

"Japanese comics."

"Si. There was a story called Sailor Universe, and it focused on star systems and magical girls. I loved them. They, along with Mill, inspired me to be a hero. So, I'm a mix of the two. I have my punk vibe and my feminine pink. And my name…was made up when I was six."

"R—really?"

"Don't laugh! It means a lot to me."

"Sorry, sorry." Mikey collected his composure by clearing his throat, yet sobered quickly when the young woman clenched her free right hand. "What's so special about it?" he questioned, gentle.

Unfortunately, she stayed quiet. Maybe she was seeking to be more cooperative by not changing the subject. Then again, she wasn't complying either. Figures.

With a heave, the mutant looked off into the distance and asked, "See that building in the works, a little ways over there?"

Slowly, Hoshi faced it.

"That was my sister's home. Until Bishop came along. And that's just one of the not-so-worse things he's done to my Clan."

"Figo…" The young woman sighed.

"I can piece puzzles together fairly well"—Mikey paused to send his companion a sidelong glance—"Sophia. Before we teamed up, the first thing you made sure of is if I was against Bishop. Since then, you've hinted towards a bad history in Italy and seemed surprised when I mentioned…Christina.

"Then there's Nom de Guerre's comments. They obviously had something to do with you going by the name Sonya Fisher here in the States. That's not a trail of coincidences. Am I wrong?"

"No," Hoshi muttered towards the obscured sky.

"So wouldn't it be nice not having to carry around that burden alone?"

"You don't give up, do you?"

"Nope!"

"Fine." The heroine shifted so her chin rested on her extended Star Staff's head. "You win. But it's not a happy story."

"Bishop's involved," Mikey noted while she frowned, "I'm not surprised."

"Si…it's not something that happened overnight. It took years, and at its apex I lost everything: my identity, my country, my friends, my…my boyfriend."

"Oh…you had a—?"

Hoshi cut off the mutant by speaking louder. "Mum lost everything too. And it's my fault. My heroism has always caused her pain."

"My father could probably sympathize with her on that," Mikey said in an undertone. "Yet you haven't given up."

"If someone said you had to stop, could you?"

"Evidently not. So what happened?"

"Palermo, mainly. It's a city in Sicily, on the north-east coast. You were wondering why I wasn't surprised about you being a mutant? That's because you aren't the first one I've met."

"Really?"

Hoshi gave a shallow nod. "They called themselves The Sect from Moher."

"What's a sect?"

"A family. I think. They came over from Ireland or something. Not too sure about their history, not even how they came to be. They didn't say much about it, only that they've been running from an organization that's wheedling itself into several countries."

"EPF," Mikey hissed.

"There were fifteen refuges in total. After Palermo…there were only two. Maestra warned me against getting close to them. But we spent two years together; I couldn't help it."

"Two years and they never told you their past?"

"They didn't pry into mine, so I didn't pry into theirs. We were bonded by our mission instead: to bring down the EPF."

"Hoshi, Dudette"—Mikey paused, unsure of his next words—"you'd need an army to take down Bishop."

"That's what we had," the heroine spat, clenching her staff's head. "We were fighters, a—a team. And we failed miserably.

"We made a plan to infiltrate the main base Bishop had stationed off the coast. He'd taken almost half our members by that point and we were going to get them back."

"I take it things didn't go well."

"No…Despite inside knowledge from my boyfriend—"

"Why would your boyfriend have inside knowledge?"

"Because"—Hoshi hesitated before sighing—"he was an EPF member. Somehow, though, a trip to South America changed his mind. He decided to turn."

"Why South America?"

"I don't know. Something about an ancient alien wreck or some shit. He wouldn't say. He just gave me a necklace, making me promise to keep it away from Bishop."

"Why a necklace?"

"I don't know that shit either. It didn't seem special—at least not until I met Sarah."

"Sarah…?"

"Brown."

"Oh, right; my sister."

Hoshi quirked a light eyebrow when Mikey chuckled nervously. "Really, Figo?"

"Sorry, slip of the mind. So, when'd he give you this necklace?"

"Just before the base collapsed on top of us…"

"Oh." The mutant breathed slowly, to keep his companion calm. "Were you…?"

"Everyone was in there," Starberry Girl all but grumbled. "Marco, my boyfriend, smuggled us inside, but didn't have full clearance at that point because he'd already betrayed Bishop. He wound up caught, so I had to go ahead and find the younger ones while Chrome and the others held off security. I found them in a lower level, but…it was too late."

"Sophia," Mikey reached for the young woman's tense shoulder, yet paused as she growled.

"The bastard _butchered_ them," she croaked. "Anya, Kit, Morgan, Spot, Zero, Lettie—every one of them. And a little lab apprentice thought she could stop me from returning them to their sect."

"Don't tell me that apprentice was—"

"Christina Silliman."

Can you say mind blown? It was hard enough imagining Christina outside the Wid-West Lab where Mikey's brothers had saved him from, let alone imagining her willingly keeping mutants hostage.

"She thought she was protecting the world," Hoshi continued, snapping the hero out of his memories. "Like every other EPF member. Even so, her attempts at stopping me were half-hearted. I could tell what had been done to the others weighed on her conscience. It's why I could convince her to help me in the end."

"She released them, right?" Mikey sounded hopeful, which probably seemed strange to Hoshi considering their history.

"She opened an escape route, though left soon after. Good for her; apparently she made it out alive, if you know her."

"More like 'knew'," said the mutant, stiff. This time, he was the one who avoided eye contact and he failed at keeping his tone even. "She died years ago. Took a bullet so I could survive…"

"I see," Hoshi said under her breath. "She came a long way then."

"I guess. But to me, it seemed like she was always helping. She was just too scared to stand up against Bishop until…until the end."

"That bastardo's a thief, Figo. He stole my team and boyfriend by self-destructing his Lab. He found out who I was and what Marco gave me, so I was forced to deal with Nom de Guerre. He picked New York because of its population and because English is my next best language."

"And when was this?"

"Almost four years, not long before my twentieth birthday. Now do you see now why watching Hubs means so much to me? Why I _need_ him out of this city?"

"I understand, Hoshi, I do. But making that your ultimate goal will prevent you from living. Isn't it lonely being mission-oriented?"

"It's how Madam Vermillion trained me."

"That's not an answer."

Michelangelo had to hand it to the heroine; she wore a stony expression even Leonardo wouldn't be able to decipher. She maintained it, too, regardless of how hard the mutant stared. ' _Guess I should be thankful I got this far,_ ' he thought while rubbing his neck. ' _She's really—_ '

"Merda!" The heroine jolted as if struck by an invisible bullet.

She backpedaled on the I-beam frame then reached below her pink sailor collar. Before Mikey spoke up, she revealed a smooth stone wrapped in twine, bound around her neck. It resembled Jade with its brilliant greens and teals, except with one major difference. It had a heartbeat. At least that's what it seemed like whenever the white light inside it pulsed.

"Is that the necklace you were talking about?" Michelangelo asked, pointing towards it.

"Si," Hoshi answered while rubbing her bow against her chest. "It's been acting weird lately, and I have no idea why."

"You mean glowing?"

"And growing super hot. It usually only does this when Sarah's around, though."

"Really? Why?"

"How the hell am I supposed to—"

"Monster!"

Both hero and heroine paused at a shrill cry, meeting one another's gaze.

"Hey, it's not me; I'm wearing a cowl," Mikey noted with his hands raised. So he followed Starberry Girl's lead by leaning over the three-story frame until he spotted the commotion brewing below them.

Quite frankly, it was a frenzy—like a terrorist had just placed an active bomb in the middle of the street. Pedestrians scrambled across the intersection ahead towards the construction site's wire fences, despite the steep concrete cliff on its other side. Their jumbled voices joined the squeals of tires when cars veered off the road to avoid what Mikey considered a ravenous wolverine-werewolf-thing. He had no idea what to call it, only that it was a deep brown, as a big as a Subaru, and had friends.

"Is it just me, or are those things heading our way?" Mikey asked.

"Come on, Figo; this is our calling."

Why fight her lead? Steeling himself, Mikey took one last look at the raised intersection then descended the I-beam frame in a ninja fashion rather than using his grappling gun. His boots met the sandy ground, stirring it before he took off behind the heroine.

"Should we really be running towards them, Hoshi? I think they've already got—ah!"

The hero skidded to a halt to cover his ears when thunderous roars sounded. They were unlike any he'd heard from the Discovery Channel—a demonic sound—and they led his attention above, where three dark beasts mauled those who sought refuge by the fence. The creatures showed little interest in the downed humans, however, as if guided by a higher goal. So their massive paws used their victims as steps, carrying their solid bodies over the top rail.

They remained perched there with the balance of a cat, which seemed odd given their sheer size. They were thick at every joint and their hunched head almost matched a hound dog's. But in place of the wide, lethargic eyes, were pure black slits. And instead of a cute sagging mouth, its sloped snout salivated with snarls that revealed shark-like teeth.

"Well, uh, they've definitely seen us," Michelangelo said as the three descended the concrete cliff. "Any suggestions, Hoshi? Hoshi?"

Mikey glanced at his companion, but the moment he did, his stomach sank. She didn't flash a smirk or even prepare herself for the oncoming danger. Instead, she stared ahead, mouth agape as her Star Staff laid by her combat boots.

"Starberry Girl!" he cried. All to no avail.

"Cani?" she croaked. "Dogs?"

They were her last words before she fell backwards and the creatures roared again.

* * *

 **A/N:** At times, Sophia can REALLY remind me of Meg from Hercules. LOL Anyways CLIFF. Prepare for much more of those...

" _Pit_ " takes us to where Blaine is. The plan to use the EPF soldier is put into action until they get a disturbing call. Then, Piece and Hun have a talk...


	33. Pit

**A/N:** Giant beasts ruin everyone's fun. LOL

Now, enjoy some Williams-Hamato tag-teaming. :D

* * *

 **Chapter 32:** **Pit**

Blaine Williams didn't often question Donna; some things were best left unsaid. However, he found it maddening not knowing where he stood or how far he had traveled in the last several hours.

"Was the blindfold necessary?" the cop asked in a harsh whisper. His hand rose with a bandana and two earplugs in its tight grasp, yet Donna smiled as if the objects were normal to carry around.

"It's standard protocol," she answered, glossing over the dark corner they faced. "You aren't initiated."

"Initiated?" Blaine was almost scared to ask. "Initiated into what?"

A short paused followed, where the blonde's grin strengthened through the obscured lighting as she shook her coworker's hand. "Welcome to the Pit, Bling Blaine."

"You take me on a blind drive and then shove me into a place called the—know what? I'll never make it to retirement. Between Hugh, Noah, and you I'll be gray-haired and dead by the time—"

Clank!

Blaine spun—not from fear or shock over an opened door, but from annoyance. After so long, he was ready to meet the alleged EPF member Donna stowed away last winter. His shoe thumped against the concrete floor while the scarecrow of a man stumbled towards a metal seat. The brunette barley fit in the furniture due to his length, not mass, and Blaine frowned at how low his head hung, as if he had been in…

' _Is this a prison?_ '

"What do you want, Sloan?" the captive started—a faint, tired action.

"You've talked with him before?" Blaine asked Donna.

She continued smiling under his hard stare. "A few times. But Mahoney here wouldn't say much and my visits are…limited."

Had they more time, Blaine would question the madness further. But for now, he settled, and regarded Mahoney after a steady inhale.

"The member's last name is Mahoney?" questioned a voice in Blaine's ear.

The blonde halted, having forgotten the setup even Donna wasn't aware of yet. "Yes, Donatello," he said while pressing a small receiver inside his ear.

"Can you get me a first name?"

' _Frickin' people all trying to puppeteer—_ '

"Hello," Blaine greeted. He leaned forward on a narrow table—the only other furniture present within the little room—and smiled, albeit bitterly. "I'm Officer Williams and I have some questions for you, Mister…?"

"Agent Mahoney," the captive substituted. Okay, so he didn't give out a first name like prompted.

"Is that what it says on your birth certificate?"

"Why do you care?"

"No reason." The male blonde shrugged. "Just wondering why you'd keep a title from an organization that hasn't bothered to find you."

"I'm sure Bishop's looking," Mahoney hissed, rattling his shackles.

"Point out how low his status was."

Tapping a hand against his bugged ear, Blaine refrained from challenging Donatello and added, "You were pawn status, at best, Mahoney. Why would he bother?"

"Because I know things."

"Like where they'd keep prisoners?"

Slowly, the scraggly man grinned through his matted hair. "Lose someone, Officer? Please tell me it was that oaf from the Property Office."

God, Blaine wanted to hit the table so badly. His fists shook beside him, itching for movement, but Donna touched them, reminding him to breathe.

"That oaf's name is Hugh," the woman said while rounding Blaine. "He's kind'a our friend. Our best friend. So if you have any idea how to get him back, you should say."

"Or else what?" Scoffing, Mahoney leaned back in his metal seat. "I guarantee you, anything you people come up with in this pit is paradise compared to what Bishop'll do to your _friend_."

"Wanna bet?" Blaine snarled while slamming his palms against the tabletop.

"Blaine," warned Donatello, "we need to make it seem like we're in control. Don't succumb to his taunts; he should succumb to ours."

"I understand," the officer grumbled in return, his head ducked. "It's just that…Hugh has no clue. He's so…dense."

"Dense about what?" a second voice questioned over the line.

"Raph, I told you to stay quiet. We'll confuse Blaine."

"Please, if Mike were here, _then_ he'd be confused."

"Having trouble?"

Blaine lifted his head so he could meet Mahoney's dark, sunken gaze. "Keep talking. We'll see who's in trouble."

"Give me one good reason why I should turn against the EPF."

"I'll give you a hint," Donna noted. "It isn't a new life, money, food, or a lack of obligation."

"How about morale?"

"Are you kidding me, Donatello?"

"No. Press the reason he's with the EPF."

Blaine sighed. "Has joining Bishop been everything you expected?"

"No one's ever prepared to join him," Mahoney replied, voice lowering.

"How so?" Donna asked.

Mahoney sent her a leer. "You never know what Bishop's going to do next. Who he'll use."

"Why stick with a boss like that?"

"Most of us accept what is, like soldiers. Some have no choice. And the rest? They're there for selfish reasons."

"Which are you, Mahoney?" Blaine interjected. "Are you a soldier, desperate, or selfish?"

"A little of all, I guess. What does it matter?"

"A man's motive is telling. What he strives for, how he lives, that's what defines him. Are you saying yours doesn't matter to you?"

Clicking his tongue, Mahoney arched his spine while rolling his eyes. "It did matter. Once. In fact, I completely disregarded my mother's expectations so I could become an architect with the EPF."

Blaine quirked an eyebrow. "You dreamed of being an architect?"

"Yeah," the prisoner replied with a scoff. "Ma didn't like the idea. I can still hear her nagging now: 'Julius, get away from that drafting table and tend the cows! Mahoney Farms has been in business nearly seventy years, and I won't have you jeopardize our family title. You hear?'"

The cops exchanged looks as Mahoney began chuckling. The younger one pretended to take a swig of a strong drink, insinuating with her rolling head that the EPF soldier was drunk. But Blaine knew it was unlikely.

"I have a full name and a farm to tie it to," Donatello said over the earpiece. "Thanks, Blaine."

"And what does that matter?" whispered Blaine. He planned on waiting for a reply, but Donna's suspicious gaze made him clear his throat. "So, Julius," he started as the prisoner cursed his slip of the tongue, "as an architect, would you know where Bishop would build his prisons?"

"Up yours," Mahoney spat.

"Wait, Blaine," Donna interjected in time to catch the fist the older blonde meant to deliver. "If we break his jaw, then he really won't say anything!"

"Least then his silence would be justified!"

"I don't owe you bastards anything!" Mahoney cried.

The older blonde faced him in a rage, shaking. "Unlike Bishop, right? You must owe him everything since he made your wild dreams come true, Cinderella."

"He gave me an opportunity, and you think I don't regret taking it? I told you, no one's ever prepared…"

Silence.

"Blaine," Donatello chimed in, "Mahoney was born in Birmingham, Alabama to a single mother in a large family. She raised him along with her parents, who died a few years back. Since most of his cousins chose government careers after he left, the farm went under. His aunt and uncle couldn't sustain it, and his mother fell ill from stress. She's in a hospital now."

"What do you regret, Agent?" Blaine asked in an undertone. "That you didn't make it far in the architect world? Or that your dear old Ma has been killing herself on that farm ever since you left?"

"How do you…?" Mahoney blinked, as if the rapid motion could keep him from gawking. "You know nothing about my Ma."

Shrugging, the blonde man ran a hand through his thick hair, listening to Donatello's guidance. "According to Birmingham news, she was a hard worker. Diligent, stern, and giving. She found pride in her farm and wanted you to be a part of it. But then you left. Her parents died. And your cousins broke away as well, probably because of your influence."

"Shut up," Mahoney whispered. His bony fingers clenched tighter on the table, but Blaine feared them as much as an outburst from his children.

"So if your mother dies"—Blaine kept his tone flippant on purpose, to see the prisoner tense even further—"then, in a way, it means you killed her. Right?"

"I said shut the fuck up!" Mahoney's whole body shook now, from his shaggy hair, down his scarecrow form, to his blackened, bare feet. He maintained a glare up until the moment Donna threw herself against the table.

"You're secretly a Mama's Boy, aren't you?" she questioned, leaning closer towards Mahoney.

"The idiot should've caved long ago," the prisoner countered. "It—it's not my fault she wouldn't give it up. It's not my fault she's…"

"You know," Donna started softly, "I'm sure we can arrange for you to meet her again. If you tell us where Hugh might be."

"I can't."

"But you don't owe Bishop anything. Remember?"

"I took this job without realizing what it entailed. Now, I'm stuck. I can't even let a broken man die in peace without Bishop injecting me with all kinds of shit. Kingston deserved better than to rot in a cell."

"Who's Kingston?" Donna asked, thin brows furrowed.

"He knew Kingston?" Donatello sounded surprised, yet didn't pause for long. "Nevermind. If he released Kingston, maybe…"

"Maybe he don't agree with Bishop after all," Raphael added. "An' he won't say nothin' 'cuz—"

"Because he could be in a similar situation like Melody was with Stephens."

"Which means what?" hissed Blaine into his hand.

"Blaine?" Donna slipped away from the table to give her friend a concerned look. "You okay?"

Stepping backwards, Blaine avoided her touch, a snide smirk across his face. "Just have some bugs in my ears. They'll go away soon. I hope."

"Not until we—"

Beep! Beep! Beep!

"Hey," Raphael said over the beeping, "it's Mikey."

"Raph, what did I say about confusing—"

"He should hear this, Genius. He's supposed ta be here anyway."

Before Donatello protested any further, Raphael answered the call. Static followed. Then, panting. It seemed distressed, not erotic like a prank, and its alarm brought Blaine to the room's dark corner again.

"What's going on?" he asked, low.

"I—I don't know," Donatello answered. "Mikey? What's up?"

"H—hell…hello?" a small, feminine voice replied.

"Starberry Girl?" Raphael growled. "What are ya doin' with—"

"We need help," the girl croaked near hysterics. "We were by Madison a—a—and they came out of nowhere. Th—the cani."

"What the hell are cani, Pink?"

"I—I—I didn't meant to. I couldn't. I tried moving, but…Then he told me to run and—oh, God, he won't stop bleeding."

"Who won't?" asked Donatello in a thin tone.

"Please. You know him; right, Nightwatcher?" Whoever Starberry Girl was, she paused to gulp loudly, her breath shuddering. "Help him. Find a way to help him. Please."

"Don—"

"Already pulling up his signal," Donatello told Raphael. "Blaine—"

"I understand," Blaine whispered back. "I have some questions about the Nightwatcher thing, but they can wait. Go get your brother."

"Your brother matters, too," the genius noted with a sigh. "Ask Mahoney if the injections done by Bishop made it so he physically can't say anything without being killed. Think Nazi spies, only the cyanide caps aren't voluntary. It should give you a good lead."

"Thanks." Lips taunt, Blaine wheedled the earpiece out of place then slipped it into his slack's pocket. Once his back was straightened, the cop spun on a heel, zoning onto the prisoner who peered up through wild brown hair.

"Problems, Officer?" questioned Mahoney.

Blaine kept his back strong while strolling forward. "You mentioned Bishop injecting you with shit. I'm curious to know what kind. Can you tell me?"

The dark eyes said it all. Their fear, frustration, tiredness—it translated into a glare that Blaine couldn't mistake. So he grinned, saying,

"Let's try something new."

.

* * *

Hun sent Pierce a long, hard stare in the hall. The fool knew better than to maintain the pompous smirk he had arrived with, and yet he wore it proudly around HQ anyway. Hun was curious as to why.

"Your meeting with Nikt had better have gone well," the PD leader started while raising his strong chin.

The dark-skinned cyborg snickered, clicking his blade fingers in a habit Hun loathed. "If anything, watching him squirm made things worth it."

Hun's eyes narrowed.

"Okay, okay, Boss." Standing at attention, Pierce turned serious—like he should've at the beginning. "Hugh Reese's arrest opened new doors. Nikt has been granted higher clearance in the EPF because of his high belief in the man's guilt. Think Bishop favors him for his hate alone."

"What has he learned?"

"Bishop's been cooking up experiments, although Nikt gets the feeling they're more about animals than cyborgs."

"So he _hasn't_ found out where Hunt, Rojo, and Amanda are?"

Pierce stepped back when Hun's fingers curled, yet continued. "He's got his foot in the door—"

"That's not _good_ enough!" Slamming a fist against the hall's wall, the PD leader snarled, cracking the cement as if it were made of crackers. "We planted it all—every bit of evidence against Reese—in reassurance Nikt can get us a location!"

"H—he's been sharing limelight with another officer," Pierce countered with raised, bladed hands. "A kiss-up. They're both advancing in the program, but he needs to be careful not to push so hard. Bishop will really suspect something then."

"I don't care how he does it," said Hun in a deep whisper, "he will find my cyborgs within the next week."

"Well"—Pierced shifted, his hands falling—"there is good news."

Hun pressed further by glaring.

"The, uh, Commissioner is doing a survey soon. He wants Nikt and another officer to walk the new base and see Hugh, as reassurance that Bishop's following the law. And you know where Bishop keeps Hugh—"

"Will likely be the same pit he'd keep Hunt. Or at least clues to his whereabouts."

"Exactly."

Hun didn't want to smile, yet couldn't help it: Pierced looked so relieved to end the conversation with his teeth intact. "Keep a trail on Nikt," the blonde started, upbeat. "The moment he leaves that hell hole, bring him up to me. I don't care who's watching."

Pierce gave a wheezy laugh, flicking his blades against one another. "Why, Boss, that's what I live for."

* * *

 **A/N:** Hun's getting a LITTLE restless. That will come to a head soon. *rubs hands together* Hope you enjoyed Donna. Girl is...something else.

Next up: " _Fear_ ". It's ALL about our favorite hero duo! More of Sophia's past is revealed and it brings her a little closer to Michelangelo, despite the grimness. :)


	34. Fear

**A/N:** Blah. Behind in posting since I was so busy this weekend. LOL

 _WOLF_ \- You ain't seen nothing yet. *holds back snort of laughter while watching Raph wipe his face*

 _Feather_ \- Oh, how I've missed you! Thanks so much for the binge reviews; it SERIOUSLY made my night, as always. Good luck on Finals, Dude! Hope they're over soon. :D

* * *

 **Chapter 33:** **Fear**

Did anyone catch the license plate of the semi-truck that just made a hit and run? Because Michelangelo was quite sure he had strong grounds for a lawsuit.

The mutant stirred against something solid, opening his eyes to see why he felt so heavy. Well, he wasn't in a street, and to his knowledge, his body was bare. However, lifting his arm feel like a chore and something sticky smeared across his check when he touched it.

Wait. Was it blood? Mikey rubbed his fingers together, noting the tacky, red substance that coated them. Yup. It was probably his, huh? Or if not his then—

"Sophia!"

"Mikey, stop!" Donatello's cry earned his younger brother's gaze, which blurred into green and purple shapes beyond him. "Mel isn't done."

Blinking rapidly, Mikey asked, "Done with what?"

"Stitching," said a deep voice. Mikey turned his now-clear vision towards the dull pressure at his side, where Melody worked from her knelt position in some grass. "You are lucky most of these wounds are superficial. They made us think the worst when we arrived. However, the lacerations are localized to your head and legs and were easily mended. My assumption is that you were curled in a fetal position during this attack."

At the cyborg's pensive stare, the hero grimaced. "Not all of us have armor and super-strength, ya know? Those monsters were as tall as a car and used me like a play toy."

"What monsters?" Don pressed a hand against Mikey's throbbing temple, but the younger brother swatted away the concern.

"I'm not crazy, Donny," he hissed. "They were a mix, like Nia's little pet. Except way bigger and meaner."

"More EPF escapees?"

"I—I'm not sure. But none of this is—damn, Melody!" Michelangelo's arm shot out. He meant to push the cyborg away, yet she remained unmoving as his weak palm squished part of her face.

"Localized anesthesia must be wearing off," she muttered. "That is what you get for having such limited access."

"Stop talking to yourself and tell me what's going on," Mikey snapped. "When did I come to Central Park? Why is the sun already going down? What are you working on? And where the hell is Sophia?"

A huff passed before Melody sat back on her feet. Her metallic hands drew back to reveal layers of red—so much so that the Chūnin's stomach caught in his throat.

"I—is that…?"

"Yours." The half-blonde obviously didn't like to admit her answer, so she kept busy by cleaning up a medical kit beside her. "There is a long gash that barely missed your femoral artery and your side was punctured. It tore some scar tissue, which Donatello says is from an old stab wound."

"A PD with tasteless orange hair gave me that," confirmed Mikey, prodding the aching wound. "How bad is it?"

"Your"—Melody hesitated—"friend reacted quickly. She created a tourniquet for your leg then applied pressure with her shirt until we came."

What shirt? Michelangelo glanced around the unkempt grass for it, but only found a blood trail leading far away.

"That's the _only_ good thing she's got goin' for her right now," someone snarled.

Far from the tree that supported him, Mikey spotted Raphael. He stood like he was uncomfortable and clenched a blood-soaked cloth in his fist so tightly, his knuckles were white as it dripped red.

"Where is she, Raph?" asked Mikey, stoic.

"I'd know that if Genius here hadn't held me back!"

"You're in no mood to act civil," Donatello interjected. "Had you gone after her, more blood would've been shed."

"She said she'd left him. That makes this _her_ fault."

"Always looking for someone to blame, aren't you?"

In an instant, Raph's eyes flared. "Well, _someone_ has to pay!"

"Raphael," Melody spoke evenly, not looking at the hothead as he stepped forward. "The girl is not Gavin. And tracking her down will not make you feel any better about Nia's absence."

' _She sensed that reason too, huh?_ ' thought Mikey with a sigh. Raphael returned to sulking by a distant tree, although his grip on the cloth loosened—a testament to the truth. ' _I wanna be angry, but…I also can't blame him. Poor doofus._ '

"We don't know where your friend went," said Donny, a hand on his wife's shoulder. "Our main concern was you."

"I can guarantee you she needs help as well," Mikey countered. Hissing, he braced two dirty hands against the tree behind him then struggled to stand.

"I advise against walking," Melody stated in a dry tone.

"Advice acknowledged and ignored. Sorry, but you didn't see the fear in Hoshi's eyes. I gotta make sure she's okay."

"Ya ain't in any condition for a search," Raph added from afar.

Mikey sent him a pointed stare, despite the burn that threatened to collapse his legs. "You aren't one to talk."

"But he's right." Don braced his younger brother when he swayed. "You need rest."

"I can't rest; not without knowing how she is. Please, Don, what if it were Melody?" The genius closed his gap-toothed mouth, following Mike's gaze to Raph. "What if it were Nia?" he asked, softer.

"Even if we agreed," the hotheaded started, "how would you find her?"

Mikey met Donatello's brown eyes and grinned. "You brought your tablet, right?"

"Yes," Don answered slowly.

"Then it's a simple matter of tracking her phone."

* * *

What a coward! How could she have done that? How could she have given into fear and left?

' _Idiot_ ,' Sophia thought in Italian, stumbling. 'Y _ou come across a few animals then freak? What would Maestra say?_ '

Mill would be livid, that much was for sure. She'd also beat the shit out of her protégé while giving an hour long spiel about overcoming weaknesses.

' _She's done it before. I thought…I thought I had gotten better, but…_ '

Those beasts had brought back too many memories and the sheer anxiety behind them still shook her body hours later.

' _I only had one thought at that point, but he didn't deserve abandonment…_ '

So why had she listened to Turtle Titan's demand? She knew he had no hope of holding off the creatures. They were too powerful, too overwhelming. Hell, they had bent iron beams while trying to pin the heroes down. Yet she had turned her back and ran.

Shameful.

He could've died. It would've been her fault, too.

"Fanculo!" Sophia snarled, kicking forward. A faint crack followed—the twisting of her ankle—and the green-haired heroine cursed again as her mind adjusted to her surroundings for the first time.

She stood on a grassy hill surrounded by tombstones and flower wreaths. They seemed to stretch on forever, but that was because the markers faded into the darkness beyond a few lampposts. A quick survey revealed a dirt path behind her. Apparently, she'd been following it, although she couldn't recall for how long.

"I'm such a mess," Sophia muttered. Her fists clenched as she faced what she'd kicked earlier, a grim smile across her lips. "Sorry"—she squinted at the name etched into a rounded tombstone—"Misses Summers. Guess it serves me right for complaining about my day when you're…"

Was it worth finishing her statement? Not really. So, groaning, the heroine sank to her knees then twisted to use Misses Summers as a backrest. She slumped over her scraped legs then finally realized how battered she looked.

Her sleeveless shirt was long gone, her fishnets in ruins. Dried blood caked her disheveled hair against her neck and she had no idea where her mask or pendant was. Granted that her gloves and combat boots had held up well to the beatings, she likely looked like a maimed prostitute…

"That's a dangerous look to sport around New York, Hoshi."

Sophia didn't bother jerking her head up. She kept it between her knees, unable to bear Turtle Titan's bloody state any longer. "How did you find me, Figo?" she asked in a small voice.

"GPS from the phone in your utility belt," he answered, somehow light. He must've smiled, but the heroine growled softly, adding,

"You shouldn't be walking."

"Oh, I know." There was a pause while the hero shifted. "My clan doesn't agree with me being here, either, but I had to see you."

Sophia gripped her legs. "Why? I left you."

"You think that makes you a bad person?"

"Doesn't matter what it makes me. I should've…I should've stood my ground."

A silence followed. Well, as silent as a New York City night could be. Horns honked, buildings hummed, and sirens wailed in the distance; however, paying attention to the background noise didn't keep Sophia from noticing that the mutant used the tombstone beside her as a second seat.

"Resting feels much better than standing," the mutant said with a laugh. Was he serious?

Sophia lifted her head, scowling at the beaten hero now out of costume. "How is this funny, stronzo? We could've _died_ out there!"

"Isn't that the risk we take as heroes?" Michelangelo countered. His blue eyes looked so controlled that the blonde felt her blood boil.

"That's not the point!"

"Then what is?"

"I—" Sophia choked on the truth and gripped her knees until their old cuts reopened. "Heroes don't run. They always stand, no matter what."

"That's Madam Vermillion talk," the green-skinned mutant noted, somewhat distant. After a blink, his eyes refocused on Sophia's steely stare, but they were infuriatingly gentle—not at all the look her master would've given in such a situation. "Being a hero doesn't mean you'll never be scared, Hoshi."

"No, it means standing regardless of your fears. And I…" She failed—simple as that—and she had to shake her mind free of the beasts' dark eyes so her trembles wouldn't worsen.

"Everyone has a weakness," Michelangelo countered while catching her gaze.

"I can't afford weaknesses," the blonde spat. "I'm not allowed to be weak."

"Sophia"—the mutant reached for the heroine's hand despite how bloody it was—"I've never seen you outright mortified before. You're usually confident and stubborn. Why…What about those creatures scared you so much?"

There was no answer to give that didn't sound like an excuse. Instead, Soph tugged for her hand back, turning.

"No." The mutant maintained his grip to force her attention back on him. "You can tell me. We're partners, remember?"

"Since when does that mean we have to reveal fears?"

"Want me to go first then?"

Sophia reeled, confused by the glance Michelangelo gave the tombstones they leaned against. He touched the one behind her as if it were brittle then smiled half-heartedly.

"My biggest fear is getting others hurt. The woman you're sitting on…she's someone I failed."

The blonde almost scoffed until she realized how honest the mutant's gaze was. She followed his eyes to the tombstone, twisting so she could read its engraving.

 _Here lies Ellen Summers. January 17, 1963 – July 20, 2011. Dutiful mother. Valued friend. Forever will be missed._

"It wasn't our fault," added Michelangelo. "We did what we could. But she died…in my brother's arms. Her"—the mutant drew in a sharp intake of air—"her nine-year-old son died that night too. I held him."

The male's voice had dropped to a whisper, which only impacted his words. Sophia swallowed thickly as he sat upright again, and felt like throwing up when she pictured a pair of wide-set green eyes gazing down at her with love.

"So I was scared today as well," Michelangelo continued, soft. "That's why I told you to run. Don't think I can handle looking at any more graves."

"You wouldn't have had to if it weren't for my damn phobia," Sophia snarled while slapping her knee. Yeah, it stung, but watching it bleed beat succumbing to the mutant's stare.

"You called them 'cani'. Dogs? Do you fear dogs?"

' _He's not giving in, is he?_ ' Sophia groaned then slammed her bare back against Ellen Summers' rough tombstone.

"I can't help it, okay?" she asked in a snide tone.

The hero neither glared nor huffed—like Sophia had come to expect in her time with Madam Vermillion. Rather, he scooted closer, asking, "Why are you scared of them?"

"Because…they killed my older sister. Eighteen years ago."

"You—you had a sister?"

Michelangelo sounded pained, so the blonde closed her eyes and kept her hand still when the mutant placed his fingers over it. "Her name was Cosima. She was ten…"

"Can I ask—"

"How?" Sophia sneered, although it wasn't the hero who prompted the disdain. "Simply put, Papa got her killed."

While Michelangelo remained quiet, his three fingers tightened—a sure sign of surprise.

"Remember me mentioning how Mum tends to be overbearing?"

"Sorta."

"She wasn't always like that. When Cosima and I were growing up in Florence, we spent a lot of time together because Papa and Mum were barely home. Mum worked long hours while Papa…" The heroine sighed. "We were practically being raised by a babysitter and the older Cosima grew, the more responsibilities she took on. Honestly, she mothered me more than Mum did in those times."

"Sounds like my eldest brother," Michelangelo whispered.

However, Sophia refused to ask about him yet, not if she was to continue her story. "We never knew were Papa went for so long. He was supposed to be home more often than he was, even left us alone a few times after the babysitter's shift. One day, Cosima planned to follow him. I tagged along because I didn't want to be the odd one out."

"Where'd he go?"

"Underground." Sophia's answer left her lips in a dark hiss and she opened her eyes to prevent memories from filling her vision. Focusing on her boots, she clenched her fists. "The place was filled with noises. Hoots, music, but above of all, dogs barking."

"A dog fighting ring."

The heroine gave a slow nod. "We—we weren't sure what we were walking into. We just wanted him to notice us. I lost Cosima in the crowd. I thought she was going after Papa, so I did my best to reach him. But…sh—sh—she never made it. She—"

Sophia tensed; however, her shakes didn't stop. They racked her frame without mercy and tears welled as she clenched her jaw. Still, she had come this far, and Sophia Moretti was never known to go halfway.

"She had been pushed into the main pit. A fifteen foot drop with a rabid dog pack at the bottom. None of the adults even realized. They were too drunk and hyped from gambling to hear her screams. But I heard them."

"You"—the mutant's voice cracked—"you watched dogs kill your sister?"

"They ripped her apart, Michelangelo," Sophia croaked.

Her tears sped up like her heartbeat, burning her cheeks with a ferocity that matched her flashbacks. She recalled blood spatters, snarls, and maimed peach flesh all without wanting to, which forced her forehead against her knees.

"Papa was the first adult t—to notice," she added with a tight throat. "But he reached her too late. Others wanted to cover up the incident to save their asses. Perhaps the only decent thing my father did in his life was confess to the police."

"I…I—Sophia, I'm sorry."

Sophia shook her head. "'Sorry's won't bring Cosima back. But it did wake up Mum. Since then, we've grown close—much closer than before. As for Papa. He's rotting in prison, just where he belongs.

"He says giving into his gambling addiction was the worst mistake of his life, but nothing he says will ever make things better with Mum. That's why we moved to Palmero, to get away from him. And our old house."

"Makes sense. So whenever you see a dog—"

"I freeze; I know," the blonde spat with a glare. "I can't help seeing _that_ scene. Seeing Cosima…I promised myself never to freeze again, not to let fear conquer me. I'm supposed to _never_ be helpless."

"To be without fear would to be inhuman," said Michelangelo, solemn. He dared raise a hand against Sophia's wounded cheek. Perhaps that's why her tears increased. "It's good to conquer weaknesses, but it's impossible to be without them. Trauma like that isn't easily overcome, so you shouldn't tell yourself you're weak because it affects you. That won't make you strong, Hoshi."

"Then what will?" Sophia whispered in return.

"Leaning on others." When the mutant grinned, he brushed a thumb along the heroine's rounded jaw line. "I know Madam V worked like a solitary soldier, and she passed down that trait to you. But I don't think that's where you're happiest."

"It's not a matter of happiness. It's a matter of doing the mission right, of taking down Bishop."

"If you live by a mission alone, you miss out on a lot."

"And yet it makes it easier when people leave."

"Hoshi"—Michelangelo gripped the heroine's shoulders—"not everyone will leave."

"Tell that to my sister," Sophia hissed under his blue eyes. "Or my boyfriend. Or my friends from Palmero."

"I know it hurts like hell; trust me. But if you never want to be helpless again, then you _need_ people. The only way you can get through your weaknesses is if there's someone there to carry you. Knowing when you need others, that's an important strength. And you need them, Sophia."

"Or do you mean I need _you_?"

It was a tease. The heroine even tried smirking, although her quivering lips prevented it. To her dismay, the mutant remained stoic and wrapped an arm around her shoulders without a word. He drew her close, gesturing towards someone before whispering in her ear,

"You can start now by letting my sister help stitch you up. It would be nice to give your mom a break for once, right?"

Sophia had no more will to fight, so she signed in resignation—refusing to admit out loud that she wanted people in her life after all…

* * *

 **A/N:** Sophia/Hoshi sees herself as a soldier - meant for war, not love...Good thing Mikey's here to set things straight! God, I adore that ninja. *hearts*

Next chapter is " _Twist_ ". One hint: both Hugh's and Hoshi's worlds take a dramatic turn. And it's just the start! Don't forget to leave a review. ;D


	35. Twist

**A/N:** Prerpare for more brewing trouble. :P

 _WOLF_ \- Listened to that song. Really liked it! I'll have to add it to the story's "soundtrack". :D The song "My Demons" by Starset is a great song for the previous chapter, now that you got me thinking about music. LOL

 _Sciencegal_ \- Opps! Least you remembered. Heh. Yeah, Soap's weaknesses are coming to light. Girl isn't a super soldier after all. D:

* * *

 **Chapter 34: T** **wist**

Turns out, there was a point where one is in so much pain, it stops. Hugh never intended to discover where this point existed, but unfortunately Bishop had other plans. And boy, did the psycho's visits make the days seem long.

' _I almost wish he had other means, like a Truth Serum,_ ' the African-American thought with a groan. ' _Then again, the guys would really be screwed if something like that worked…_ '

Sighing, Hugh ran his tongue along his teeth. They tasted of iron and an empty space replaced the canine on his upper left side. What remained were generally loose, which was to be expected given how many punches his face had endured.

At least, he thought they were punches. Maybe they had been kicks or a sledgehammer. Who cared? All he could recall was a painful haze that led to his current numbness.

"Reese."

Hugh didn't bother opening his eyes; Bishop's voice alone pulsed in his skull. He swore the jerk turned the PA system on the highest volume possible out of spite.

"You have visitors," Bishop continued.

' _Visitors?_ ' thought Hugh, brows furrowed. ' _Is this a joke?_ '

"Tell them to leave a message," the detective said as loud as he could. "I'm busy."

"Then this is an inconvenience for both of us."

What did that mean? Of course, Hugh never got a chance to ask. Not that Bishop would've given an answer anyway.

Thus, he braved the sting in his eyes and opened them as his cell door hissed and grinded. He expected strangers to enter the brightly-lit space, lower class agents or even Bishop himself. What he didn't expect was Kyle Erlich or Luis Eckley.

The unlikeliest of duos entered then approached his chair with calm strides. Their gazes glossed him over once they reached him; however, neither looked appalled or even mildly concerned.

"You're doing well," Eckley remarked. He wore a wide grin that pushed up his fat cheeks so far they almost hid his eyes.

So Hugh flashed a mock smile in return. "Guess I look better than I feel, Doughnut. Too bad you can't say the same."

"Don't know about that, Hombre," the robust Hispanic countered, straightening the tie around his uniform's collar. "I think my looks have kept par with how ecstatic I've been that you were finally caught."

"And whose fault is that?"

Eckley quirked a faint brow at the detective's snarl. "Your own, obviously. A badge plus forensics? It's almost pathetic how much evidence is built against you. The Commissioner's so disappointed."

"Just like planned, right?"

"What the hell are you talking about, Reese?" Eckley's dark eyes narrowed to mirror the bound detective's glare. "I had nothing to do with this."

Voice lowering, Hugh tensed his hands in the shackles that bound him stationary to his prison chair. "Who else would set me up?"

"Is that what you're pleading? Wouldn't you have a better chance saying you're insane?"

"I'm not the insane one here."

"Good luck convincing others of that. Precinct Nineteen is the only one who thinks you're innocent. And by that, I mean Blaine says you're innocent while Noah and Donna say they'll defend you, regardless."

"I don't care what anyone else thinks."

"You never have."

Hugh's tart smile returned. "You, on the other hand, care a lot about being recognized. You expect me to trust that you've gained favor with two of the most powerful men in New York, and didn't feel compelled to further your career by throwing me under a bus?"

"While tempting, I've been busy," Eckley said as he cracked his neck. "The EPF Academy requires so many hours you can't even sleep. But then there are some of us who skip out anyway. Right, Kyle?"

At Eckley's pat against his chest, Kyle blinked—a slow, calm action.

' _Why's he being so quiet? That isn't like him._ '

"Moving on"—Eckley clapped his hands then smiled—"we're here for an evaluation for the Commissioner."

"What kind of evaluation?"

"The boss just wants to ensure you're being detained within the perimeters of the law. Seeing as how you aren't dead or missing limbs, I say Bishop's doing good work."

"You call missing teeth good work?" Hugh forced a smile to show off the missing bone, but the fat Hispanic only shrugged.

"One tooth is hardly proof of abuse, Reese. Now a full mouth? Maybe several bad bruises and cuts? That would be proof."

' _It would, which explains why that nurse was rushing to clean me up not long ago…Bishop really does think of everything, doesn't he?_ '

"Now I gotta go, Detective; I have a date to attend. I've already spent more time with you than I'd like."

"You won't get away with this," Hugh hissed at Eckley's back.

The Hispanic paused by the metallic door then twisted, his chubby face contorted in a smirk. "Seriously, consider the insanity angle. You're delusional."

Delusional, his ass! Hugh huffed then ground his teeth until a sharp pain in them caused him to groan. After shaking his head, he faced Kyle, who hadn't moved an inch since entering.

"Okay, Kyle," the detective said over the door's grinding. "What's the plan?"

Kyle sent him a blank stare. "Plan?"

"The one for getting me out. Come on; the door won't make noise forever before Bishop can hear again. Did Blaine send you?"

"No."

"Weird. Donna then? Noah?"

"No and no."

"I—I don't get it. Are you planning this alone?"

"There _is_ no other plan, Reese."

Hugh froze under the lanky man's subtle glare, which was accentuated by the sudden silence when the cell door shut. "What?" he whispered.

"Why would I go through the trouble of getting you here then break you out?"

"W—wait"—Hugh struggled for air—"you're telling me, _you're_ the one who framed me?"

"Yes." Simple, blunt, Kyle ran a hand through his slick brown hair, unfazed.

Impossible. It had to be a lie—it just had to be. Why would Kyle do such a thing?

"You're wondering why," the pale man added. He smiled at Hugh's gaping expression, but then sneered and lifted his narrow chin. "You're stupider than I give you credit for, if you're this surprised."

"You're our ally," said the older man in a small voice.

"Maybe once. Now, I hate your guts."

"Enough to put me here?"

"Enough that I want your whole reputation ruined!" Inhaling a deep breath, Kyle collected himself until he was stoic once again. "Evidence was harder to gain after my transfer, but volunteering to work as your mole kept me close enough for the final pieces."

"You're shitting me."

"No, Hugh. You shit on me."

"I don't…" Damn, the pain was returning. It made Hugh feel like his head would explode, which further fueled his budding anger. "Why would you frame me? I've done nothing except help you."

"Really? Because the only time I recall you helping me was when Kaiya went missing. Had it not been for that overlapping interest, you never would've looked into my cases. Just like any other cop I've met."

"Look"—Hugh tried smiling, although his headache made him cringe—"I can respect that you have special cases you're into. Really, I can. But to bomb places then frame the guy who least likely picked on you is an _extreme_ twist."

"I never took any violent action," Kyle replied, arms raised. "I contacted a third party under the alias Nikt. They did the rest."

"What third party?"

"It doesn't concern you."

Had his legs been unbound, Hugh would've stomped them. Seeing as how they weren't, he settled for struggling in his chair, wishing it could scrape across the cell's concrete floor. "I think it concerns me a lot! My being here endangers nearly a dozen others. Maybe more!"

"There you go, being self-important again. No wonder you're having marital problems."

Hugh wanted to kick the man so badly that he screamed in a horse voice then launched his weight forward. The chair didn't budge an inch.

"What the fuck did I ever do to you?" Hugh demanded. Was the answer obvious? Kyle's dour look insinuated it was supposed to be.

"You killed my career," the greasy-haired cop spat. "Everything I've stove for—what I've fought to prove for years—was rendered moot because of Black Lotus."

"What does that have to do with me?"

" _Everything_." Bending in half, Kyle placed his hands over Hugh's arm shackles, squeezing them as his words grew softer. "You and Blaine are the ones others regarded as heroes for saving those prisoners. I should've been included. You knew I've been working to bring awareness to the forgotten. Yet when you had a solid lead where we could _prove_ homeless were being kidnapped, you dropped me. My one chance to show my father I was right and _you_ took the credit."

"That situation was…complicated, Kyle. Besides, would you have liked a building collapsing on top of you? It's not as glamorous as TV shows make it seem."

"Justify your selfishness however you want. You used me. That's all anyone ever does. And I'm sick of it."

"Revenge has a hollow reward. Putting me here—"

"Is the one thing I've ever been successful at. Funny, seems I'm more fit to drive people away than to save them."

"But saving people has always been your passion. That's why you pay so much attention to those overlooked."

"Ever wonder why that is?"

Hugh blinked, silent as the visitor began circling his chair.

"When I was a boy," Kyle started, "I was left alone a lot. Dad worked like a dog and my mother left for a 'vacation' when I was five. I spent hours playing in the backwoods around our house, away from my babysitter. I met someone there: a boy without shoes who smelled like wet dog.

"He never gave a name, but he liked to talk about our interests and even random scenarios. For a while, I didn't question his origin. He always denied when I offered him a bed, and anyone I asked around town had no idea who I was talking about.

"They called me crazy, a liar, a kid with a hyperactive imagination. I wasn't any of those. To prove it, I planned for him meet my father. But…they never got the chance."

Kyle paused behind Hugh's chair, sighing. "My friend vanished. Weeks later, some hiker discovered a young John Doe's body, and despite how I begged, Dad refused to let me identify him. To this day, he believes my friend was imaginary. But he was real. And alone."

"I—I'm sorry about your friend," Hugh said, stiff. "But I'm not the reason your father doesn't believe you."

"Yes, you are." A pressure wrapped around the back of Hugh's sweaty neck, subtle yet dangerous. "I've gone my whole career with one goal in mind: uplift the forgotten so they won't die as Jane and John Does.

"Dad says it's how society works, that I can't change it. He thinks my focus should be elsewhere, like on promotions. So I'm just one giant embarrassment. By now I've been transferred across the country. Still he believes I'm not working towards anything valuable.

"Black Lotus, though…that would've been a big break. _That_?" The pressure strengthened. "That would've given me the leverage to finally prove I'm not a failure. Instead, he thinks I'm lying about partaking in it. Says I'm desperate and should let things go. But you know"—Kyle squeezed so tightly Hugh gasped—"I'm not good at letting things go.

"So enjoy yourself, Reese. I hope you'll be here for a long, long time to come. And maybe soon, Blaine will join you."

"Blaine was only following my lead, Kyle; leave him _out_ of this."

The slick-haired man chuckled at the detective's snarl, releasing Hugh's neck to head for the exit. "I think signing up for the EPF has been the best choice I've ever made," he said over his shoulder. "I've never felt more at home or at peace. Perhaps I've found my place at last, eh?"

Hugh was too stunned to answer. In fact, he hardly recalled the door opening before his vision grew white.

* * *

"You don't have to check up on me, Figo," Sophia said from behind her windowsill. But even though she frowned through the glass, a light behind her hazel eyes convinced Michelangelo she appreciated his visit to her townhouse.

"You were pretty beat up last night," the mutant countered, slipping inside her bright bedroom. "I had to see how you're holding up."

"Meaning: you wanted to stalk me."

"Guess I can't deny I'm curious about how your room looks with the lights lit. I was too focused on not tripping when we dropped you off."

"My place isn't grand. It's just a room."

"A room says a lot about a person, Hoshi. Like, I never would've guessed you were into"—the mutant paused by a black desk, leaning closer towards a Gothic-esque poster pinned above it—"Nightwish? Who's Nightwish?"

"An opera metal band," the petite blonde answered. She was quick to shoo him away, closing a journal below her desk lamp.

"That's a genre?" Mikey asked while meeting her gaze.

"Si. What music did you expect me to like?"

"I don't know. Techno?"

Hoshi sent a pointed look. "That repetitive, bubblegum merda? I have a few exceptions, but on the whole Techno can't compare with the haunting feel of Nightwish, Apocalyptica, or Within Temptation. It's not deep enough for me."

"Funny; this is coming from the girl who fights hard to avoid being deep with others." Michelangelo grinned, although Sophia's embarrassment forced away her gaze.

Nose red, she spun on her bare feet then headed for a terrarium tank in the corner beside her full-sized bed. Mikey couldn't help watching her slender figure as she did so; her silk pajamas caught her subtle curves perfectly, drawing attention to her narrow hips. It was the first time he had seen her out of uniform, and he found it adorable how she matched her pink and black room like a kid's toy set.

"Scusami, Figo?"

Mikey blinked, unaware of when Sophia had crossed her thin arms. "What?"

"I asked how long he's gunna lurk there."

Who? Oh, she must've meant Raph. Mikey sent the hothead a smile; however, the mutant on the fire escape returned his invite with a glare.

"He insisted on escorting me. Ya know, since walking is a pain."

"You seem fine."

"I had painkillers earlier."

"What about when those wear off?"

The mutant continued his smiling, despite the human's blanch. "Then Raph will carry me home because he _loves_ me."

"I'll drag ya, Doofus," Raphael interjected through the open window.

"Will you come inside, Grouch?"

"Forget it, Mike. It looks like a Pepto-Bismol commercial threw up in there."

"You have a problem with pink, Defi'?" Sophia snapped. Her hand cupped something as she approached the window. Maybe she meant to hit the hothead, except Raph backed up before she reached him, his mouth gaping like a fish.

"The fuck is that?" he squeaked. Uh oh; it was his 'there's a spider near me' voice.

"Don't speak to Cuddles like that," the blonde countered, holding out her hand. In it, a white tarantula rested and wiggled one of its front legs as if waving hello.

Raph was unimpressed with its good manners, nearly falling over the fire escape's iron railing. "It's disgustin'! Kill it!"

"Defi'"—Sophia spoke calmly with a still hand—"this is Cuddles. Cuddles is famiglia. Hurt her, and I will personally saw off your limbs with a steak knife. Capito?"

"Y—ya named it 'Cuddles'?"

"You have a problem with how I name pets too?"

"No; I got a problem wit' gross, creepy things wit' hairy legs 'n too many eyes. Get it away!"

"My, what a brave hero."

"Come on, Hoshi, let's not tempt tragedy." Michelangelo wrapped a gentle hand around Sophia's, guiding it away from his shaking brother. The fat spider shifted so she faced the mutant. He wasn't sure if he was being assessed, but he smiled anyway, stroking Cuddles' back with a finger. "My sister would think you're cute."

"Which one?" Hoshi shot back, bland. "You keep coming up with names, so I'm not sure if you have one or ten."

The Chūnin gave a weak laugh. "As of right now, I have three. April, Melody, and—"

"Sarah. Or, what did you say her real name was?"

"Nia." After a quick glance at the silent Raphael, Mikey sighed. "Put simply, her name was changed for the same reason yours was: to escape Bishop."

"Since she's associated with mutants, that isn't surprising."

"Among other reasons."

"So how's she doing? Last I saw her she…"

"I'd love to give you an answer, Hoshi," said Mikey after a drear grin, "but we don't know. Her father's never been too fond of us, and used the chance to, well, hide her."

"What a douche."

A scoff reached through the window, followed by a muffled chuckle. Raphael met Sophia's eyes, his fists clenched around his damaged Shell Cell. Donatello had repaired it, although its assemblage lacked the genius' usual skill. At least it functioned. Unless Raph shattered it again.

"Next time I see that ass, I'm gunna—shit!"

Raphael backed up, fast. In the seconds it took to draw his sais, a metallic crash sounded, followed by rattling. The fire escape's small platform was now occupied by two figures, and Mikey knew the red-masked Chūnin was cursing himself for being so distracted while outside—even at night.

"Is this the residence of Sophia Moretti?" the stranger asked, unmoving.

His smooth tone and casual behavior unsettled Michelangelo, but it seemed to outright startle Sophia. Her hazel eyes were wide as her hands lowered, as if Cuddles had gained a hundred pounds, so Mikey waved for her attention. He never gained it, even when he tugged her arm. Instead, she croaked, frozen on the carpet while the stranger squatted to view inside the open window.

"I—it can't be," she whispered while shaking.

"Can't be what, Hoshi?"

"Sophie," the man said, cracking a handsome smile, "I knew you were alive."

"This can't be real. Y—you're dead." Voice small, Sophia swayed until she found stability by leaning against Michelangelo, who regarded the stranger's rugged tan features with a frown.

"Who're you? And what do you want with Sophia?"

The man didn't wait for permission to enter; he slipped inside effortlessly then approached the pink-clad blonde until he caught her distant gaze. "My name's Marco Rizzo," he said without glancing away. "And I'm here to help Sophie finish the mission we started long ago."

* * *

 **A/N:** How do you like that? Seems the burning question of the hour is "Who should our heroes REALLY trust?" Don't worry, things just get worse for Hugh and Hoshi soon. *bricked* Meanwhile, why not review? ;)

" _Torn_ " is next. We pick up where we left off, following Marco through an important explanation. Then, Raph gets a startling text...


	36. Torn

**A/N:** Chapters will be booming; I want this story complete by the end of the year. XD

If people are emotionally connected, _Sciencegal_ , I count that as a job well done. So yup! :D

* * *

 **Chapter 35:** **Torn**

Did he say Marco Rizzo? As in Sophia's ex-boyfriend Marco Rizzo? Now, Michelangelo knew very little about the man. What he did know was that he should be _dead_!

"Alright," Raphael said in the passing silence. "So, are we not fightin' this guy or what?"

"My fight isn't with you," Marco said over his shoulder. He then sent a smile at Sophia. Mikey found it sickening. "I'm thankful Nom de Guerre finally gave me your location. I was going crazy trying to find you on my own."

"Nom de Guerre knew you were looking for me?" It was the first confident sentence Sophia had voiced in the last five minutes, and her thin brows furrowed as Marco reached for her shoulders.

"For over a year now. He kept revealing hints until I narrowed down the city. Then for some reason, he contacted me with this address. Something about you insulting him and not wanting to stay in the States anymore."

"So he _knew_? For a _year_?"

"Calm down, Soph. You know how he is."

"I just—I don't. You can't _be_ here, Marco." Sophia's voice cracked—a pitiful sound. She drew Cuddles closer, unblinking in her stare, and Marco's fingers traveled up and down the blonde's upper arms.

"You've grown prettier since I last saw you," he said. "And here I thought that wasn't possible."

"Prettier?" Sophia's flushed face hardened as she swatted one of the man's arms away. "Four years of deception, and that's all you have to say? You've been alive this whole time. You let me believe I'd _lost_ you. And you don't have the decency to apologize?"

"Mi dispiace, amore mio. I know it hurt, but it needed to be that way."

"No!" Voice roaring, Sophia handed off Cuddles to Michelangelo then used her palms to hit the tall man in his buff chest. "I've _talked_ to your grave. I _buried_ you. I _mourned_ you for years, stronzo! And all this time I never needed to?"

"Everyone had to think I was dead, Sophia," Marco countered in a chilled voice. "It was the only way to protect my family."

"And what about me?"

The Italian stiffened under his ex-girlfriend's glare. "Mi dispiace. Bishop needed to see you torn."

"Fottiti!"

"Ascolta, ascolta!" Marco caught the little blonde's hands to keep them from hitting him. "He wouldn't question my death if he saw you were sincere. It misdirected him, and since you disappeared from Italy soon after that, the rest of your family assumed you committed suicide."

" _What_?"

"It was a messed up choice, yes, but," pausing, Marco fluffed Hoshi's straight cut bangs, "it gave us good cover, right? To beat Bishop, you must outwit him, which is damn hard."

"Ya're tellin' us," Raphael said behind the group. Everyone turned to face the red-masked Chūnin, as he had finally joined the group inside. "We've been after him for eight years. What makes ya think ya got a chance?"

Shoulders squared, Marco ran a hand over his curled, dark hair. "I got inside knowledge from working with the EPF."

"EPF?" Raphael's hand reached his sai's hilt before Mikey could blink, but he kept it stationary, respecting the hand motion his youngest brother gave to calm him down.

"You worked with them until something bad happened, right?" Mikey asked Marco.

"Until South America. Si. Since then, I've been sabotaging him the best I can. Even took the so called 'artifact' he sent me to retrieve."

"My necklace," Sophia said, gentle.

"I never told you, Sophie, but that necklace came from an alien species that lives deep in the Amazon."

Raph snorted. "Aliens? Explains why ya haven't questioned me or Mike."

Marco sent the mutant a light smirk. "Sophie's been hanging around mutants for as long as I've known her. I'm not surprised she found some here. Although…"

"Although what?"

"Nothing." Shaking his head, Marco disregarded Raph in favor of Hoshi. "The, uh, Jade-like jewel is called the Davu Stone. It's a weapon, in a way, meant to be handled with great care. I doubted its potency when I stole it from their home base. While I was heading for the extraction point, however, I—I killed one of them with it."

"That's what changed your mind."

"It's a war where they live, Sophie. They face death every day, and witnessing it first-hand…I didn't want to be part of that. I felt the Davu Stone's capability and decided I wouldn't unleash it again—especially not on a Languu."

"Oh my God," Mikey breathed. He earned two questioning gazes with his gasp, but Raphael was the one who caught his attention when the hotheaded reeled back. Eyes wide behind his mask, Raph stalked towards Marco then spun him by the shoulder, asking,

"What was that name again?"

"The Languu?"

"What do ya know about 'em?"

"Hey!" Marco backed up, a few steps from where the burly mutant had been squeezing his shoulder. "All I know is they recycle energy to live. They've been here for hundreds of years, and the Davu Stone was harvested with the purpose of killing them."

"Uh, question," interjected Mikey. "Why would the Languu keep a stone that's capable of killing their own kind?"

"It's a precautionary measure," Marco answered while eyeing Raph. "The Languu realize they can drain a planet if they're irresponsible and unbalanced. Think of them like a plant. They feed on energy generated by organic matter then release it into the Earth as a new form of energy. They convert it, basically."

"So they need ta make sure none 'a their people get outta line," Raphael noted. Had it been any other time, Mikey would've teased his older brother for showing deep interest and concern. However, he knew the reason why the Languu meant so much to him, and thus added,

"How does the Davu Stone affect a Languu?"

"In simple terms, it disrupts their ability to recycle energy. With the ability blocked, they starve, for a lack of a better term. It's a fast process, makes them weak, disoriented, and"—Marco drew in a slow breath—"they convulse until the end. When they stop moving…then they're dead."

"Sarah…" Sophia's whisper rung loud as she met Mikey's gaze.

"Nia," the mutant corrected.

"Whatever. But that"—the blonde tugged at her undone hair, gesturing towards Marco with her eyes—"that explains exactly what happened to her at Warner-Frost! That's why the stone would act funny around her. That's why it burned me those few times. Which means, she's…"

"Told you there were other reasons for her running from Bishop," noted Mikey with a grim smile.

"She ain't pure Languu, though," Raphael added, crossing his arms. "About half her DNA's human."

"She's a hybrid?"

The hothead gave Sophia a nod.

"Hybrids are the worst."

Oh, damn; Marco really shouldn't have said anything. Michelangelo jumped when his brother gripped Marco's jacket then slammed the tall human against the nearest wall.

"Wanna repeat that, kano yarou?" he snarled while glaring upwards.

"Even I can understand the risk they pose," Marco countered, tugging at the Chūnin's large hands. "Just for good measure, the head Languu showed me what happens when a hybrid is left unchecked. She was trying to keep me from stealing it. You already know that didn't work, but I know the truth regardless.

"Hybrids aren't born with the balance a Languu needs. They turn into monsters, who lose all sense of self-awareness then suck the life out of everything around them. That's why it's forbidden to try for children outside the Languu race."

"And yet Nia was born," grumbled Mikey. He clenched his hand free from Cuddles and hated how close his brother looked to tears.

"My wife ain't a monster," Raphael said in an undertone. "Any 'a her races can tell me she wasn't meant ta be, but she's provin' them both wrong. While she's slipped a few times, she's found that balance. An' she works like hell ta keep it. So no curly-haired little pretty boy is gunna tell me she's the worst. _Got it_?"

"Alright," Marco conceded. "I never meant to offend anyone, but a hybrid in the city could definitely account for Bishop's long residence here."

"Don't even get me started on that." After releasing Marco, Raphael headed for the window, where he leaned against it, unwilling to make eye contact with Mikey.

"So, Sophie"—Marco approached the blonde—"you still have it, right?"

"Um…" Glancing away, Hoshi sought to retrieve Cuddles. "Not exactly."

"What do you mean?"

"Y—yesterday Michelangelo and I ran into some trouble. Big trouble. Um, d—d—do—"

"Dog monsters," Mikey finished.

Sophia flashed a thankful smile, yet paled when she faced Marco again. "I think the EPF created them because their only goal was to get my necklace. Once they had that, they left. Mostly."

"You mean _Bishop_ has it now?"

"It's not certain!" The slender blonde shrunk away when Marco stepped forward then cradled her albino pet. "it isn't with me anymore, though. I—I'm sorry, Marco."

"You don't have to apologize," added Mikey, chest puffed. "You fought hard and did what you could. We'd need something more than shuriken and cables to take down those things."

"Thanks, Figo," Sophia whispered into Cuddles' thorax.

Marco sighed. "I don't mean to get mad, Sophie. But the whole reason I gave the Davu Stone to you was for safe keeping."

"Way to keep me in the loop about it."

"It was better if you didn't know."

"Why? What if I had decided to pawn it or something?"

"I knew you would never do that."

"How so?"

Smile soft, Marco's voice grew tender. "The necklace was a gift from me. You never throw away my gifts. You still have Cuddles, too."

Sophia had no counter attack. She simply stared in return, freckled features tainted red. Mikey felt a familiar jab once she huffed—the sting of jealousy. For once, he thought he could keep the feeling tempered, yet his eyes narrowed at the man who dared picked up where he left off with a girl he had faked his death for years prior.

' _Not cool, Dude. She was just starting to open up to me and he thinks…_ '

No. Mikey didn't know what Marco thought. In fact, he didn't know Marco at all.

Four years was a long time. What if the man had thought better of running from the EPF and decided to rejoin them? What if he wanted to take Sophia to another country? What if he wanted to return to their roles from back in Italy? What if…what if he wanted Sophia to immerse herself in the soldier life she thinks she needs to have?

' _She's more than a mission,_ ' the mutant thought with curling fists. ' _And I'll tell that to his face._ '

"Guess this means our first goal should be retrieving that stone."

Mikey eyed Marco, silent for once.

"We have no idea where his true New York base is," Sophia said. "And that's if he took the necklace there."

"You've lived here four years and don't know?"

"I had other priorities, Marco. A job, Mum; for a time I didn't patrol."

"Why not?"

The blonde shifted then headed for Cuddles' tank. "I felt safe. Bishop's name wasn't mentioned here until last October. Besides, the Phantoms kept the city safe."

"The who?"

"Hum, wonder who they could be, eh?" Michelangelo sent a devious smirk towards his brother by the window. However, the red-masked Chūnin was rigid, his gaze set on his Shell Cell. "Uh, earth to Troll Turtle. Come in, Troll Turtle."

Raph remained silent then slowly lifted his eyes.

"Dude, what up? What's wrong?"

"I—I don't know if it's—maybe I shouldn't, but…Mikey, look."

In seconds, the youngest brother stood beside Raph and tilted the phone so he could see its screen. There was an open text message from Gavin, reading:

 _Nia's had another seizure, but otherwise remains the same. Since no one can explain what's going on, they're sending her back home. She's at our townhouse now._

"Is this permission to see her?" Mikey lifted his head then froze under Raph's hopeful eyes. The poor guy wanted to stay controlled, nevertheless the nunchaku master placed a hand on his shoulder, nodding. "I'll call Don or Mel to pick me up."

"But—"

"Raph" —Mikey smiled—"go see your wife. Let me know how she's doing, okay?"

He needed no further push. After a nod, the hothead vanished in a flash, so Michelangelo sent the bystanders behind him a wave.

"He doesn't meant to be rude; he's just...Raph. Now where were we?"

"We were planning," answered Marco. "Although I'm not sure where you fit it."

"I think I fit right here." That said, Mikey sat down, letting Marco know if any plans were to be made, they would include him—no matter what.

* * *

Raphael heard his heart thump in his chest like a soundtrack for his mad dash across the city. He was on auto pilot, for sure, and never had he been so thankful that he'd memorized New York's layout. It served him well while his mind raced with Gavin's text.

' _Two weeks has never felt so long,_ ' the mutant thought, gripping the lip of a gable roof. He crouched in the moonlight then sprung to continue his journey towards Lincoln Square. ' _But I get ta see her again. Or I beddah see her, if Gavin likes his face…_ '

A cynical part of Raph believed it was a hoax. Gavin could've sent him on a wild goose chase, almost as if the redhead had told his imaginary friends "Look what I can make this fool do." Still, he'd rather risk that chance than it be true and remain stationary. It wasn't in the mutant not to act.

' _I swear Gavin don't deserve her. She gives him way more chances than he deserves. Then again…it's for that very reason I'm wit' her now._ '

How twisted was that? She still loved her father, and by now the mutant felt so torn on how to handle Gavin that he as compelled to bang his head against a brick wall. Of course he refrained; that shit hurt. But the urged remained all the same.

' _I can at least punch him, right? Guess we'll find out._ '

Having reached the Anders' townhouse, Raphael immediately descended from the tile rooftop. He landed on a rounded balcony capable of holding two chairs then tested the window. It was unlocked, unlike the many times before. So the mutant lifted it with care, ensuring no sounds were made while he entered the house. He closed it behind him then headed for the narrow stairs he knew led to Nia's room.

Despite the tight fit, he entered the darkness above and cursed the moment his foot collided with a paint bucket. That's right; his wife had a horrible habit of leaving out her paint materials. He knew he wasn't any better when it came to his workout gear, but maybe they should both consider cleaning up more…

Dude, was that responsibility talking? In _his_ head?

This was all Gavin's fault.

"When I see him, I'll—"

Click. A faint sound filled the loft bedroom with light, and Raph inhaled, set on telling off Gavin when their eyes met. However, the gaze he caught wasn't green. It was brown. And belonged to a female figure beside Nia in bed—a figure he knew well from visits to Lennox Hill Hospital.

"Hello, Raphael," Mia said. "I've been waiting for you."

* * *

 **A/N:** Well then. Raph has some e'plainin' to dooo. ;D


	37. Wake

**A/N:** Middle of the story is wrapping up. Then, the climax starts!

 _WOLF_ \- "Ex's/ dead O's come back to life" This amused me greatly. XD

 _Sciencegal_ \- Like a deer in the headlights. Oh, Raph. And I'm excited to reveal more about the Languu. We still haven't met one, though. Not yet...

 _D_ \- Sorry for that. Phones. XP Mia's not QUITE recovered. She can talk, but gets winded easily (which is why there're so many pauses when she speaks). Her leg muscles are still being built back up, she's underweight, needs assistance, and Gavin is paranoid about her having strokes. But her personality has returned and THAT is strong. LOL You'll see what I mean if you continue reading on. ;)

* * *

 **Chapter 36:** **Wake**

Donatello felt his head slip from between his hands all too late. The hard surface of his desk met his forehead with jarring force, and he cursed as he straightened up in his swivel chair.

"Nod off again, Donny?"

Hand against his temple, Don sent April a pointed look across the Lair's Lab. "You're supposed to wake me before I get any more bruises."

"Couldn't help myself," the redhead countered while tucking short hairs behind her ear. "I keep hoping you'll stay asleep. You need it."

"Considering everything that's going on? Forget it. What if I go to bed then wake up to find Sensei"—the mutant swallowed hard—"dead?"

"Don't say that." April neared her best friend so she could grip his shoulder—prodding him with her nails so deeply that it distracted the Chūnin from his nausea.

"It's a reality we're facing, Ape," Don muttered towards his mass of paperwork. "The antibiotics have only worsened his respiratory issues, so even the perfect Chemo would be a death sentence at this point. He's too weak. He's…"

"Still holding on, which means we should too."

"I know. Still, our only chance lies in Recro-12 now. We have no more room for theories or alternatives, and if it keeps failing…" Before the genius realized it, several papers writhed in his fist. "While I hate to say it, it would certainly help if Nia remembered how Bishop stabilized his body."

"There's a way, Donny," said April, gentle. Her nails eased until they ran down his muscles, resting on his forearm. "Four geniuses can't remain at a roadblock forever."

Don wanted to believe the redhead, but instead settled for forcing a smile. "Speaking of another genius, Mel should be home soon."

April drew her hand back. "Bet you're just counting the seconds, aren't ya, Romeo?"

"Knot it off. You two aren't half as bad as you assume each other are."

"Maybe. So where'd she go?"

"To get Mikey back from that girl's house."

"What girl?"

Slumping, Don blanched. "It's a long story; I'm sure Mike will tell you when he gets here. Anyways, Raph had taken him earlier, but apparently left for an emergency."

"What kind of emergency?"

"He got a text." At April's furrowed brow, the mutant smiled for real. "Nia's back home, so he went to see her."

"You mean Gavin gave in? Seems a little—"

"Too good to be true? Probably. Raph's made his choice, though. Besides"—Donny gathered his notes then tapped them against the table to align the papers—"Gavin wouldn't risk Nia's exposure by including dangerous people. Worst that can happen is they punch each other, right?"

* * *

Dark blobs danced across Nia's vision. She had no idea what they were—only that they were dizzying little buggers, insistent on remaining whether her eyes were opened or closed. The artist intended to rub them away with her hand. To her dismay, her arm wouldn't rise further than her hip, as if it were tied down.

Wait; was it? Had she been caught again?

Biting back panic, Nia struggled for a better view around her. The spots began diminishing as a light grew stronger, although she could barely see through them. She could only wait with baited breath while squinting through the haze until her eye sight cleared. Apparently, she was laying beside her mother in the loft bed of their apartment—not on a metallic gurney in an EPF lab.

Odd. They always shared the king-size bed in the master bedroom when she stayed over. Why were they here?

Mia shushed her daughter the moment their eyes connected. Soon, a hand brushed the artist's cheek, the mother's smile widening. "Don't talk yet. Don't force it. Let your body adjust first."

' _Adjust to what?_ ' Nia thought. ' _What happened?_ '

"I know you must be confused," add Mia, softer. "I"—she paused to wipe her mouth on her shoulder—"I was too….when I woke."

' _Why on Earth is she talking like I've risen from the dead? I was just…I was at…Hold on, where_ was _I? What was I doing? How'd I get here?_ '

As the young woman's chest welled with sudden air, her mother placed a hand against it, to keep it steady. "Breathe, Nia. You had a seizure at Warner-Frost. The last thing your body needs is stress. So, breathe."

It took remembering Splinter's similar instructions for the artist to calm down, but she did so without causing too much damage. The ceiling light above flickered to normal as the master's voice faded from Nia's mind, and she glanced up at her short-haired mother with wide eyes.

"We don't know what happened, Ni. You just collapsed at work."

"I know why," a deep voice interjected.

It was the last voice Nia expected to hear in her mother's presence, yet her surprise couldn't drown her relief when she looked sideways. Raphael stood with tense, broad shoulders and clenched fists that loosened with every step he took towards her. He looked on edge, his amber eyes darting towards Mia every few seconds; however, he didn't stop until he reached the bed.

"Someone needed to see you," Mia noted when the mutant dropped to his knees. She sounded so calm, like she'd meet Raph already. Had she?

Nia wished to ask, except her parched throat did little more than squeak. Then before she drew her next breath, Raphael wrapped his large arms around his wife, hugging her while she remained on her back. Face buried in the artist's neck, he trembled, and Nia knew he'd want her to try and steady him by hugging back.

"It felt like ya were never gunna wake up," the mutant whispered against her skin. "Who knew two weeks could be so long?"

"Two weeks?" Nia croaked.

The trembling strengthened, as did Raph's hold while Mia said,

"You've been in a coma, Baby. You were at a hospital until today because…no one could figure out why."

"I don't—" Nia coughed, craning her neck so she could see her mother. "I don't understand. You…and Raph?"

"Oh, that." Mia flashed a smile then reached for something between her and Nia above the comforter. "I found this. A Shell Cell, you boyfriend just called it? It made me understand why you kept the Hamatos at bay."

"How?"

"You have a few pictures."

Raphael didn't approve of the reveal—his Chi said as much—but he kept a hold on his wife, who chuckled weakly as she meet her mother's gaze.

"I'm sure she never meant…for anyone to find this phone, Raphael. That's why she has the pictures of you, your brothers. Your"—Mia swallowed—"father. I—it took me a day to process the information. And Gavin still doesn't know that I"—she swallowed again, this time more earnestly—"I looked through the gallery. The idea of you, Raphael, has been eating me since then. I had to meet you."

"Ya're da one who sent the text," Raph noted in an undertone. He drew back from Nia, yet kept his arms around her, locked.

Mia nodded. "Gavin's working and we finally came home. Now was the time."

"So ya sent me somethin' sayin' she had another seizure?"

At the mutant's growl, the brunette steeled her expression with one hand squeezing the Shell Cell and the other wringing her handkerchief. "Forgive the lies, Raphael. Had I said it was me, you may not have come. And had I not added that…bit of urgency, you may not have believed Gavin sent it."

"Smart," Raph spat, sarcastic.

"It all makes sense," continued Mia. She outright ignored the mutant's smartass remark, which Nia bet ten bucks was possible due to decades of marriage with Gavin. Instead of a glare or gawk, the brunette maintained her iron expression, pointing a finger at Raphael. "The secrecy, the roundabout answers, the puzzling remarks—I knew something big must…must be behind it. Never would I have thought it'd be you, though."

"Me?" Raph furrowed his eye ridges. "Sorry; have we met?"

"Maybe. Or maybe not."

"Y—you're not making much sense, Mama," Nia said through dry lips.

Mia sent her a gentle smile, although Raph's hand brought her half-focused attention on him when he asked, "Do ya need water?"

An answer wasn't necessary; the artist's eyes said what she needed. So, she faced her mother again while the red-masked Chūnin sought a cup.

"I've had time to process things," the older woman noted.

Still, Nia frowned. "Just a day…and everything's fine?"

"I woke up from a nine-month coma after my home was"—wiping her mouth with her handkerchief, Mia regained her air—"invaded by a secret government agency. When I regained my memories, I discovered I now live under a new alias and that my daughter's actually part alien. What far cry is a mutant from that?"

"Adopted daughter," Nia muttered against the glass her husband brought.

"Excuse me?" Mia questioned as the artist sat up then sipped.

"I'm not your blood daughter," continued Nia. "I'm adopted, so…that made it easier to believe in my heritage, right?"

There was a passing of silence until Mia's Chi pulsed with offence, her stare darkening. "Who was there to hold you during nightmares? To show you the beauty in this world? To mend your wounds or teach you about womanhood? Who walked by your side as you grew? _I_ did. So you know what?"

The woman's voice cracked as she unceremoniously removed drool from the corner of her pointed jaw. "Were your biological parents to walk through our door, I would fight them for you. Because you're _my_ baby—regardless of what any test says. Y—you could be a harbinger of death or the undead. I don't care. I'd accept you."

Nia felt her eyes prickle. She wanted to cry; except she held the urge at bay knowing it would mean little and only hinder her already impaired speech.

"That's why this is easy for me to comprehend," Mia continued in a kinder voice. "I'm also so relieved to know the truth at last that…nothing fazes me, even his shell."

"It's a pretty big shell," Nia said with a giggle.

"A lot 'a things about me are big," noted Raph, smirking. He sent a wink at his wife, whose flush face grew hot in seconds of realizing his crude insinuation.

"Raph!" she hissed.

"Just how _close_ are you?" asked Mia.

Under her quirked brow, Nia groaned, turning away from what she knew was a pointed look worthy of Leo's commendation.

"We're married," Raphael answered. He spoke frankly with tinges of pride evening his tone, yet Nia sensed a slight fear in him as well—a dread over being regarded as less than her partner.

"I see. Too bad I wasn't invited to the ceremony."

"D—don't be upset, Mama," Nia interjected. "There's wasn't much of, uh, ceremony. It was very…private."

"Yeah; mutant-alien marriage ain't widely practiced."

"Maybe one day it will be though. Th—that's what we hope, anyway."

"So"—Mia regarded Raph with the same pointed stare from before—"if that chance were to arrive, you'd make a public oath to my child?"

The mutant's counter stare was just as controlled, his grip slipping around Nia's waist again. "I would."

"Then your choice has been made."

Nia nodded towards her smiling mother and leaned against Raph's plastron. "I want to be with the Hamatos. They're my home, my clan. And I…I wanted you and Daddy to join as well."

"Let me deal with Gavin, Ni. Now that I have the full truth, I think I can convince him to cooperate better."

A brusque scoff vibrated against Nia's hair, so Mia sighed, saying,

"Not even I have been getting the best side of Gavin recently. Still, he's…he's complicated, and he has reasons, even when it feels like he doesn't. Change has always been hard for him."

"Like I would know," grumbled Nia, leaning closer into her husband.

"Just as you had reasons not to tell me about the Hamatos, he has reasons for not telling you about his sect."

"Sect?"

"An Irish family, basically. My point is: he has demons, which need handled carefully. So let me handle them while you go home."

"Are you sure, Mama? He'll be awfully upset when he comes back."

"I've seen worse; believe me. I think it would help him if he explained the Hamatos' origin anyhow."

"And you have no other questions?"

"Of course I do. But I'm positive he knows the answers to those as well. So go. It's been a while since they've seen you."

"Right; I've been asleep, huh?"

"Not only that," Raph about growled, "but Gavin wouldn't tell us where the fuck ya were."

"Language," Mia chided. Funnily enough, the mutant ducked his head as if Splinter had just reprimanded him.

"He…he kept me from you?" whispered Nia with a frown.

"A chance he won't evah get again," Raph whispered in return. "Promise."

"I trust you'll rest," added Mia. "Perhaps you can relax with Mister Splinter; his cancer's been waxing on him, I hear."

"More than ya know."

At Raphael's drear tone and stomach-turning Chi, Nia straightened. "What's that mean?"

Raph didn't meet his wife's gaze immediately; he sent Mia a nod first then started lifting the artist out of bed. "It means it's been two weeks, Shuǐ. An' we got a lot ta catch up on before we get home…"

* * *

Splinter loved the family portrait Nia had painted last March. He found it soothing, therapeutic, and often lost himself within its colors and brushstrokes.

' _I could spend hours watching this piece_ ,' the old rat thought from his armchair. ' _If only to see Leonardo's face the way it should be…_ '

What a depressing truth. However, Splinter could not deny it. The Jonin's letters had ceased over the last few weeks, and the father ached to hear from his son—even if the words he sent were heartbreakingly lost.

' _I assured Michelangelo not to dwell on them when I myself do so. What a poor example I am._ '

Was he growing so weak that hypocrisy no longer mattered? How shameful.

"Mel!" Donatello's cry turned Splinter in his armchair as the genius continued, "You're back and…carrying Mikey."

Splinter snickered into his paw, unable to help himself. Yes, Michelangelo's crossed arms, snort, and glare were all signs of annoyance; however, the fact that Melody could carry so much mutant turtle with little effort was humorous. She held him like a child and the youngest Hamato brother shook his head at his older sibling.

"Don, I swear, if I hadn't lost so much blood—"

"It would not matter," Melody interjected. "Keeping pressure off your side is vital."

Michelangelo waved a three-fingered hand, still in the cyborgs arms. "Yeah, yeah; it irritates scar tissue and makes me limp and yadda, yadda—un-fun stuff."

"You do not understand," Melody countered with her organic eye narrowed. "A body can only handle so much stress before it is crippled. The muscles in your side are growing tighter together with every injury they sustain. If you are reckless, you will no longer be able to stretch it."

"Worst case scenario is you can no longer apply pressure on it," Donatello added, frowning. "You'd have to use a cane to walk."

"You say that like it's a bad thing."

"It can be."

"Oh, I'm telling Sensei on you." The orange-masked Chūnin hardly got a chance to send the genius a devious smile before Melody plopped him on the living room sofa.

She sent him a hard stare, saying, "If injuries can be prevented, I will see to it that they are. Now wait while I check on Splinter then give you another dose of painkillers."

"As you can see, I am quite fine, Melody-san," Splinter said over Michelangelo's cheer for drugs. However, she turned away from him, meeting her mate by the sofa's end table.

"Have there been any more hypotension issues?"

"Not since I last checked. Still, I've been scared to up the dosage."

"Understandable. These antibiotics may not have been the best choice. The yellowing of his eyes is…disconcerting. Then his bed sore…"

At the cyborg's sigh, Splinter rose from his seat, nearing the couple. "It is all you had, Melody-san. You are not at fault for—"

The master stopped himself short then stared wide-eyed at his paw. He had meant to rest it on Melody's shoulder, yet it phased through her, as if she were a ghost. The motion left Splinter's hand tingling, and he reeled when he failed to touch her a second and third time.

' _How can this be?_ ' he thought with a scowl. ' _It is as if I am on the Astral Plane; however, I did not call it. I was not meditating. I was…_ '

What had he been doing? All he could recall was the painting.

"I will check his sore," continued Melody. "Can you help?"

The genius nodded without hesitation. As Michelangelo retreated to his televisions, Donatello followed the cyborg into Splinter's bedroom. The wizened rat followed close behind, his clenched paws swinging at his sides like pendulums.

His body would not be in bed. It was impossible. Right?

Evidently not. Splinter entered the candle-lit room to find his biggest fear: himself. He stood by the futon, unnerved at the figure lying ahead. The gray rat was motionless below the kakebuton while his children surrounded him, and no matter how much Splinter willed it, he could not wake from the nightmare.

"D—Don," Melody whispered from somewhere. "He's not breathing."

* * *

 **A/N:** Have I mentioned real shit has yet to hit the fan? This is just the start of everything going horribly wrong. :P


	38. Choice

**A/N:** Last of the middle. From here on out, buckles your seat-belts, Dudes and Dudettes.

 _Sciencegal_ \- Well, that's a plus. At least you get that I try to balance sorrow with funny at times. XD

 _D_ \- I was eating when I read that review. I shouldn't have been. I choked. LOL Think that's bad? Just wait. ;) I like that cultural tid-bit. I think I'll use the term in the future. Thanks! And ahhhh, gotcha. :D

* * *

 **Chapter 37:** **Choice**

April's nerves were shot by the time oxygen returned to her lungs. When she exhaled, all strength diminished, leaving her limp as she fell into a chair within the Lair's Lab.

"I—It's beating again," Donatello said. "It's back to normal. She got it beating…again."

The genius sounded every bit as labored as his friend and with good reason: he and Melody had been the ones who discovered Splinter's stopped heart not ten minutes ago.

"So you keep saying," April countered through chattering-teeth. "But hearing that machine doesn't make me any less scared."

"Me either…" Donny joined April by slumping onto the concrete floor. She could see his jittery hands wringing against his knee pads—a sure sign his anxiety remained as well.

"His health is spiraling. Don, he's really…"

The redhead couldn't bring herself to finish her statement. Ever since she had met the Hamatos, it felt as if Splinter would always be there at their head—ready to reign over his children with an iron fist and noble heart. Yet now he lay still in bed, having already died once and liable to again should his current state descend any further.

The reality was terrifying.

"It's like he's reached stage four and time's sped up," Donatello whispered over the home-made electrocardiogram machine. He paused at the maddening beeps it emitted then buried his face in his hands. "I should've let Mel get the antibiotics sooner. At least then we would've known they were redundant. Or, maybe his body would've adapted better. I—I don't know."

April didn't bother facing the Chūnin and let her eyes linger on the master's rising and falling chest. "It doesn't matter now."

"Whatever we do next, it has to be soon and it needs to work."

"Don," April's croak earned the genius' attention. "The only thing that can save him now is Recro-12."

"There's no choice," Donny replied in a dead tone. He glanced towards Splinter, brown eyes a lit with a determination his friend usually admired.

Today, though, it cut through her like an arrow, reawakening the pessimistic fear that had lain dormant in her heart for months. "I never wanted to admit it, but the chances are slim to none. I've even left Casey a voicemail, warning him about both Splinter and Leo. You can't expect a miracle to just—"

"Where is he?"

April jerked sideways at Nia's unexpected voice. It was strained and wavered, yet clear as the artist stumbled through the messy Lab. She ignored the redhead's stare and reached for Splinter's cot below a low-hung lamp, slipping on her bright stockings several times before sinking to her knees at the master's side.

"H—how long ago did it happen?" she asked with a cough.

"Nia?" April blinked when the young woman brushed a hand down Splinter's snout. "Aren't you, like, recovering from a seizure? When'd you wake up? Where's Raph and Mikey?"

"I'll talk about that later, April-chan. Tell me about Splinter-san. Please."

Curse those wide teal eyes; they made it impossible for April to form an answer. So it was good thing a new group entered the Lab: Michelangelo, Raphael, and behind them, Melody.

"Nia, ya shouldn't be walkin'," Raph chided. He neared his wife with a pained expression, but left her untouched while he stood beside the cot.

"Like anyone could stay still after hearing that news," added Mikey, sour. "Mel had to practically shove me out of the room when it happened."

"I did have to," Melody retorted dully. She sent the orange-masked Chūnin a pointed look then continued towards Splinter, where she checked his vitals for the umpteenth time.

"Give me a break, Dudette; things haven't been going well today. After getting kicked out of Hoshi's apartment—"

"Who's Hoshi?" April interjected. She blinked when the youngest Chūnin grimaced.

"That's a story for another time. Bottom line: today has sucked. The only good news is Nia got to come home."

"There's a story behind dat as well," Raph noted.

April threw her hands in the air. "Of course there is."

"We have no time for stories," Melody butted in—a steely action.

"Then what time _is_ it, Gray?" April questioned the cyborg. She challenged the alpha female with a glare, too annoyed by questions to care about peace or manners.

"Time for a plan," the half-blonde answered. "Raphael may disagree, but at this point we have no choice."

"Does it gotta do wit' Recro-12?"

Melody met Raph's amber gaze without batting her only eye. "No. In fact, we may have a higher chance of success if we transfer Nia's blood directly."

"What does that mean?" The Sai master reached for his wife's shoulder so he could lean her against his shins; however, Nia slid his fingers off her body, facing Melody.

"You're talking about _that_ possibility, aren't you?" she asked, unfazed.

April huffed. "What possibility?"

"We all know Nia has healed herself," Melody started. "The power cell from Oswald Cybernetics seemed a perfect fit to aid in that. In a way, it charged her blood—blood which is receptive to most patients. If we could repeat the process then transfuse the blood through Splinter, it might cleanse his ailment."

"Or kill him," April interjected.

The cyborg clenched her robotic fists, saying, "At this rate he's already dead. His organs are failing, O'Neil. Fast. This is our last retort."

"Sh—she's right," added Nia. The young woman quivered where she sat, yet held her chin up. "I—I've already been considering it, and…this is my choice. I want to try."

"Ni…" Raph trailed off in clear torment, his eyes shifting from his wife to his father so often April lost count.

"So, uh"—Mikey's voice shook like his hands when he took a seat—"wh—wh—what are the risks, exactly? Where would we do this? And—and who gets to be involved?"

Melody sent the Nunchaku master a subtle nod. "While you all would undoubtedly like to take part, it is unfeasible. I need a core team—Recro-12's team—to infiltrate Oswald Cybernetics. We can use one of their labs for the operation, as well as their power cell."

"Ya wanna highjack a lab?" Raphael asked, pucker-faced.

"Desperate times, Raphael. We have one shot. It needs done as quickly and efficiently as possible."

"Hate to say it, but they have better equipment and resources," Don noted.

"Donatello can hinder the feeds, cover our tracks. Leatherhead would be a helpful bodyguard and assistant. As for April"—Melody studied the redhead then continuing scanning the Lab—"I admit she is an accomplished individual who would not grow lost under my medical command."

"Thanks," April said while rolling her eyes.

"That was a compliment," Donatello whispered into her ear. Like she cared if it was or not.

"So it'll be just you four going in?" asked Mikey. His tapping foot added to the repetitive background noise, which only worsened its tension. "Nia, like, short-circuits things, though. Is it a good idea for you to be there, Melody?"

"Donatello has considered such things before."

"So…what? He's upgraded you?"

"If worse comes to worse, we'll send Mel out."

"Excuse me, Damn Mechanic?"

Donatello met his wife's glare. "You can tell us exactly what to do. We'll do it. But my goal is to make sure my _whole_ clan makes it out alive. I'll only move forward if you promise to leave if I think you must."

The cyborg kept her big lips sealed for a long moment. Then she sighed and glanced away. Apparently, that was her sign of resignation, if Don's relieved grin meant anything.

"What about _my_ wife?" Raphael hissed through clenched teeth. "This plan involves her losin' control, like in October. I've seen what dat shit does ta her. It devastates her 'n I—" Swallowing, the hothead tensed his arms so tightly, their blood vessels bulged. "I just got her back."

"I've only hurt people in that state," Nia said in a gentle voice. Her hands brushed her husband just briefly, but in that moment, he ceased shaking. "Raph, if I could save someone instead maybe…maybe I can forget the deaths. Maybe my nightmares will finally leave."

"I hate dat it's come ta this. Ya've already been through enough wit' Bishop then the Anemia."

"I don't regret who I am, Huǒ. There's gotta be an upside to being a hybrid, right?"

The artist flashed a brilliant smile—so sure and love-filled that it almost blinded April to how pale Nia looked. Still, the truth remained: Nia was half-dead already, and the high chance of two Hamato members losing their lives left the redhead silent as the others chattered on.

' _Even now, I can't help thinking how lucky she is,_ ' April thought, watching Raph hug Nia. ' _She has her bonehead to stand by her while I…_ ' The woman gripped her red cell phone between her legs. Though she had no clue when it had left her jacket, she checked its messages anyway—just in case her ex had answered.

The logs were empty.

' _I should know to never expect anything from Jones. So why do I keep…?_ ' The redhead slammed the flip phone shut, running it along her shoulder-length hair as she bit her lip to keep from shedding any more tears. ' _Forget it. My focus should be here, with my family. We have more pressing problems, another of which is Hugh…'_

It'd been eleven days since his arrest and his whereabouts remained unknown. Who knew what kind of torture Bishop was putting him through in the meantime? April didn't like the think about it. She could only hope he held on a little longer while they fixed Splinter.

Then it would be his turn.

* * *

"Sleeping on me again, Detective?" Bishop bent in half before Hugh Reese's containment chair then quirked a lip. Of course, the dark-skinned man would never see such joy while staring at his feet restraints, so the agent used a finger to push Reese's head back until his curly hair met the metal backrest.

"What other entertainment exists in hell?" Reese retorted. He sent a glare, although his swollen right eye looked laughable.

"Oh, today will be fun; I guarantee it."

"Burn, hit, and shock me all you want, psycho; I have a father who's done worse."

Bishop had to chuckle; the way Reese spoke as if he retained control was ridiculous. "Like a previous prisoner of mine, you are quite stubborn. What a shame. I had hoped you would be smart enough to talk by now. Since you apparently are not…Well."

"You'll let me go?" Reese finished with a pitiful grin. His lips looked ready to pop with infection, which forced Bishop's attention off their gross state.

"No," he added, "this time I have psychological leverage. My favorite."

"Leverage like what?"

"Unconvinced? I have plenty. Take your ex-friend, for example."

"I don't know who you're talking about."

At Reese's undertone, Bishop rubbed his nose below his sunglasses. "Playing daft will not help. I heard everything, and you know that. While I find no pleasure in being spied on, I saw an opportunity in Kyle Erlich—one which I did not miss.

"See, you trusted him. Which means the others trust him as well. Following me?" Smile broad, Bishop rounded the detective's chair, running a hand along the metal cuffs swallowing his prisoner's forearms like gator snouts. "What would happen if Erlich called them to, say, a riverside warehouse for their next meeting? Then that spot suddenly burst into flames?"

"I've told you before to leave them out of this, Bishop," Reese snarled.

"That would look terrible, would it not?" the EPF leader continued. "How despicable of you to kill off you accomplices like that."

"No one would ever believe I'd set up their deaths."

"Like no one would believe you became a terrorist? Face it, Reese; you are outmatched. And if you prolong the Hamatos' location any longer, others will pay. First"—Bishop griped the back of Reese's clammy neck—"it will be your coworkers. Then"—the man slid his other hand so it squeezed Reese's throat—"I shall hit someone far closer to home."

"Touch my wife and die," the detective hissed through his crushed air passage.

Bishop flashed a look. "You hold no position for threats. Besides, I meant more than your simple wife."

"The Williams—"

"Are hardly an interest. I mean someone even _you_ have yet to discover."

Reese questioned with his good eye as Bishop released him, and since the agent was bursting with anticipation, he didn't wait for the man to stop coughing before producing a picture from his breast pocket. He had no need to gloss it over and so slammed it against the leg Bishop had burned yesterday.

"Shit!" Reese cried, curling the best he could.

"Look down, Detective," Bishop commanded.

Despite an obvious will to rebel, the dark-skinned man complied, perhaps powerless against his curiosity. His brows furrowed as he studied the eight-by-eleven print. Its grainy white against black gave a clear indication of what it was; however, Reese scoffed, asking,

"What's this?"

"Looks like an alien, right?" Bishop pointed towards the largest white spot on the print. "They have such strange head shapes at first. But in the end, they are simply miniature humans."

"What does an ultrasound have to do with me?"

"That is the question of the hour. Why not check the patient's name?" Digging into his second breast pocket, Bishop spun then readied himself for his next step. Reese would deny what he read, so when the EPF leader walked towards a bare wall, he was unsurprised by the cop's growl.

"What sick joke are you pulling, Jackass?"

"It is no joke, I assure you," Bishop countered while turning around. He flashed a smile before clicking play on a palm-size remote.

The wall flashed to life in seconds thanks to pre-set projectors around the cell. Video footage from last week's surveillance filled it, feed from hacked traffic areas and stores. The angle panned over a long sign with the words 'Howard's Medical Practice'. Afterwards, it focused on a curvy tan woman. She spoke into her phone—cried more like—and Bishop froze the frame for a clear view of her face and frazzled hair.

"Misses Reese looks quite distraught," the leader noted, feigning an awkward smile. "Is this the time you cancelled dinner because you were meeting Erlich? Or was this the time Erb had to explain where you were the previous night? I've lost track of how many bad calls she's received."

"You've been keeping tabs on Rina," whispered Reese.

"Quite thorough ones, obviously. You are good at leaving a clean trail. Your wife, however…"

"Th—this can't be real. She can't be there. This…this ultrasound can't be hers."

"Need further proof?"

With a single click, the camera angel zoomed into what Marina held in her hands: the same ultrasound which rested on the detective's lap. Reese was stunned by the reveal, as apparent by his gaping mouth and wide eye.

The wonderful sight rekindled the agent's smile. "Must be a sad realization; your wife has gone through almost seventeen weeks of pregnancy and has yet to tell you. What does that say about your marriage?"

"So you're—"Reese struggled to speak—"you're threatening unborn children now?"

"You pushed me, Detective. Now you must make a choice: do you tell me all about the Hamatos? And my soldier? Or," Bishop's voice lowered to a near whisper, "do you sacrifice your son? I would take him first, you know. Then, your wife. Maybe afterwards I would give you a chance to recant."

Reese had no reply. Not that Bishop expected him to have one so soon. Still, there was a skip in his step as he approached the cell's exit and he reveled in the sound of heaving behind him.

* * *

 **A/N:** Be prepared...


	39. Advance

**Chapter 38:** **Advance**

Michelangelo puckered his mouth, vision set on the mutant creature that curled up beside Nia like a cat. "Wish I was on the couch," he grumbled from his spot on the Lair's living room floor.

"There's room," Nia remarked. She offered the cushion on the sofa's open side, but the moment her hand fell, one of the creature's large black eyes shot open—as if daring the Chūnin to take it.

"I'm injured enough. Thanks."

"Come on; he won't bite."

"Not you. I've teased Raph, but Little Arma-pig-anha is totally biased. And hostile."

"Arma-pig-anha?" Nia released a sigh then stroked the creature's torso plates. "He needs a name."

"I'm sure you'll come up with one, Dudette. Later. For now, we're just waiting on LH to complete the Geek Dream Team. Then…" Mikey beat his palms against his kneepads, using the pain in his side as a distraction from his tight chest. "Then it's go time at Oswald Cybernetics."

"We didn't want a big delay. Melody confirmed I'm strong enough to give blood, so we're leaving as soon as possible, while there're still a few hours of darkness left."

"I know. It's just—" Licking his lips, the youngest Hamato met his friend's gentle eyes. "I'm tired of bad days, ya know? I want one where my sister doesn't have seizures, my father isn't in a coma, and I'm not kicked out of the house of the girl I like."

Raising a thick eyebrow, Nia eyed the mutant on the stained rug.

"Remember the girl I kissed?"

"Starberry Girl?"

"I call her Hoshi now. We've been hanging out a lot. Thwarted a robbery, beat down some gangsters, did a few stake outs, investigations—she even introduced me to some creepy Black Market dealer named Der Gear."

"The who?"

Mikey flicked his hand. "He has some other weird foreign name I can't remember. Anyways, he helped us find a new home for Zebb and his family after the bank incident."

"Who's Zebb?" Nia furrowed her brows before scratching her head. "What bank incident?"

"Didn't Raph tell you?"

"Sorry; I've been so focused on Splinter-san that I've hardly registered anything else. It sounds familiar. I—isn't the heist the reason you met Marina and Blaine's family?"

"Exactly. Turns out, the kids from Warner-Frost were connected to Lacio's Strongman, Zebb. He and his wife—er, wives, Ulla and Unna, the Two-Headed Nightingale—had a plan to rob Diamond Bank."

"I remember Raph said it ended horribly."

Mikey made a face as Nia frowned. "You could say that. Mini cannons were involved. And gas. Lots of gas. In the end, it was a race to save five girls from suffocating in a locked vault. No one was killed, but yeesh, was that a scare."

"Everyone's okay, though; right?"

"Yeah. Raph thinks I shouldn't have been so forgiving, especially since I had to unmask to gain Zebb's trust. But the thing is, I can't blame them for anything. They were just trying to make money to leave the circus and start a new life."

"So you"—Nia glanced at her pet then pulled it closer against her leg—"you helped them with that?"

The nunchaku master nodded. "Hoshi did. While she wasn't happy about dealing with De Gear, she set it up so they were free. I know you must be upset you didn't get a chance to say goodbye."

"Is that selfish?"

"I don't think so. You really wanted to help, and the kids knew as much."

"Did they?"

The artist glanced up with such hopeful eyes that Mikey was powerless against smiling. "In fact, I promised them I'd thank you on their behalf. They said it meant a lot how you wanted to be their friend."

Nia appreciated the news; her grin mirrored her brother's and she gently brushed her fingers along Arma-pig-anha's body as if any extra force would break him. "I hope they're happy," she whispered.

"Me too," Michelangelo said with a firm nod. "Back to my point, though: Hoshi, while fun, can also be quite the pain. I've learned a lot about her at this point, but, apparently, I'm nothing compared to her ex-boyfriend."

"How does her ex factor into matters?"

"The jerk sought every way to make me feel like a third wheel."

"Eh?" Nia crunched her button nose. "You met him?"

"Unwillingly. He crashed my crash visit. Oh, and did I forget to mention he's supposedly been _dead_ for the last four years?" At the artist's silent blink, Mikey let his arms roam free. "Crazy, right? There was a burial and everything. Doesn't that seem fishy? I think he's a clone or zombie or something, but according to Hoshi, mentioning that is like insulting her ancestors."

"You voiced these concerns in front of the ex?"

"Course not. I took her into the closet."

Nia blinked again, although her budding smile broke the serious Chi around her.

"Don't laugh; it was my only refuge since I didn't want to be seen by her mom as well."

"So are you upset she isn't being cautious? Or"—Nia's smile grew soft—"are you jealous?"

"I—" Mikey dropped his finger before he could protest and groaned. "Okay, so you _would_ get how the whole 'ex is back in town' messes with your mind. But, Dudette, it's more than that. I'm worried he'll lead her into trouble. This guy, he—he knows too much."

"About what?"

"About the Languu." Michelangelo whispered the alien name, like it would soften the blow. However, Nia reeled anyway, all wittiness lost. "He's stolen something from them," Mikey added. "The necklace Sophia used to wear. I think it's what caused your seizure."

"H—how? She wasn't anywhere near—"

"Yes, she was." Inhaling, Mikey rubbed his neck. "Hoshi's real name is Sophia Moretti, which isn't the name she uses in the States. She got it changed after fleeing Italy. To Sonya Fisher."

"Wait…Sonya Fisher is Starberry Girl?"

"Yeah."

"You're serious?"

The Chūnin nodded, unsure why the artist giggled.

"M—Mikey-niichan, this means you befriended the pizza girl after all."

Though the reality lacked any real humor, Mikey joined Nia in her laughter. If anything, it felt good, and left him a little lighter when he regained composure.

"Told you I could set you up," added Nia with a wider smile.

"Hey, I had to meet her outside of work on my own."

"I just find it funny how we were talking about the same girl without knowing it."

"Small world, eh? So, yup; that necklace was a Languu artifact crafted to…"

' _Oh, crap. How should I put this?_ ' Saying every time Nia entered Warner-Frost put her close to death seemed radical. Forget the weight that knowing the Davu Stone was meant to kill hybrids would put on her shoulders.

"Mikey-niichan?"

"It was meant to incapacitate insane Languu; let's leave it at that," Mikey finished with a crooked smile. "Marco went into a few details, but if Raph hasn't told you yet, neither will I. Besides, it's probably best left for after you save Splinter, so your mind stays clear. Agreed?"

"Raph was there?" Nia asked softly. Her fingers rubbed the creature, who lifted his head as the human glanced at the closed Lab.

"It's not important right now. Anyways, Marco is a _total_ weirdo. I don't trust him and Hoshi thinks I'm being paranoid. She won't even return my calls."

"Why do I get the feeling missed calls only fuel your determination?"

"Because you know me. I plan to see her. What else can I do while half our clan is saving Sensei?"

"You shouldn't travel, though. You were attacked by a monster not two days ago."

"Tis a flesh wound!" Mikey beamed through his Monty Python quote, although the artist looked less than amused by it—possibly because the Chūnin hunched in pain from the sudden movement. "Don't worry; I'll drag Raphy Boy along."

Nia's pointed look grew darker, like the lights, so Michelangelo sobered.

"Come on, Sis. I'll be fine. I just…" The mutant sighed. "I—I don't like the mission mind-set Marco brings out in Sophia. It makes me worry for their plans against the EPF."

"You want to tag along, keep her safe."

"She may not like it, but advancing is too dangerous—especially if it's just them. So I hope they stay put, at least for a bit longer…"

* * *

Sophia fiddled with her Star Staff. Its golden top was meant as a distraction, but it never once let her forget the handsome man sitting on her full-size bed. For the first time, she found herself repulsed by Marco's olive-colored eyes—a feature that would've drawn her towards his lean body five years ago. However, two-thousand-and-seven had passed long ago, and for what felt like eons, she had longed to touch his nutty skin and curly hair.

You know, back when she thought him dead.

"Still using the staff, Love?" Marco asked. He used their native language, which the blonde admitted she missed.

"Don't call me 'love', asshole," she countered in Italian. "And what makes you think I'd ever give up my staff?"

"Guess that was a dumb question. You did craft it from scratch, despite Madam Vermillion's instance you train with a whip."

"I use whips too. Just not in the way she did. I have my Spider Cables."

Marco quirked an angular eyebrow, prompting Sophia to hold her staff between her knees.

She tugged at her elbow-length gloves, saying, "Inside these babies are six meters of braided Titanium coils. I use them for swinging from buildings, but they make great whips when need-be. Electric, too."

"Because you'd be lost without your amped-up weapons."

"Everyone has their things; my staff and cables are mine."

"As well as your name."

Sophia snorted then returned to swinging her staff, although the cramp bedroom hardly had room for such maneuvers.

"Why'd you keep it, by the way?" Marco added in a lower tone. "Bishop knew you by that name back in Italy. Yet you used it here?"

"Cosima named me," the slender blonde countered. "I'll use the name proudly, until the day I die. Besides, how is that ass supposed to make the connection? New York generally calls me 'that one heroine' or they consider me part of the Phantoms."

"Still, it was risky."

"Where would I be without a little risk in my life, Marc?" Sniggering, Soph flashed a smile—no matter how much she wanted to scream instead. "Now what were you saying? Something about a suit in California? I lost track after the staff comment."

Marco blanched. "You lost track way before then. That's why I brought up another topic."

"Sorry."

"Uh-huh." The man sounded unconvinced by his ex's lie, yet didn't press before continuing. "It's a bio-enhancement suit called a Shell. Some low-key company was producing them for the military's Black Ops. However, it had so many issues and high expenses that the project was cut."

"And what does it have to do with you fighting the EPF?"

"Bishop discovered the project, wanted it for his soldiers. I intercepted the order three years ago and took them for myself."

"So now you have dozens of sci-fi suits just lying around somewhere?"

"No; that would be reckless. I burned them, save two. Fixed the bugs, developed a way to compact them into a belt that only expands when you want it. I'm wearing one now, actually."

"Let me guess; the other's for me."

Marco gave a feeble laugh—his usual action when caught red-handed. "Call it an apology gift. I had hoped you'd accept it when…when you agreed to restart our mission together."

"Just like that?" Sophia spun on her combat boots then stood with one hand wrapped around her Star Staff to keep it from meeting the man's narrow nose. "No gift will _ever_ make up for what you did to me, Marco."

"Sophie—"

"Why the hell wouldn't you tell me your plans?"

"I'm a better infiltrator than an actor. Yo—you know that."

"So you had me act on your behalf, to make Bishop believe you were gone? Well guess what? I _wasn't_ acting!"

"I know. And I'm sorry. But"—rising from the bed, Marco neared the blonde who stared him down in spite of their radical height—"my cover had been blown. I needed a new angle to advance, and was sure Nom de Guerre would keep you safe in the meantime."

"Thought you said that jerk didn't tell you where I was until recently?" Sophia asked, tone flat.

"He held you for ransom, in a way. You know how his prices are."

"Until he gives up. Who knew we could break him?"

"Sophia, please. I spent the last four years tracking Bishop, watching him grow from the shadows. I wasn't ready to include you during that time, not when I knew you were out of harm's way. I slipped up last year, though. An agent spotted me and Bishop's been hunting me since."

"So that makes it the perfect time to include me?"

"No. It means I need help and…you're the only one I can trust."

Soph could feel her smile growing more bitter every second; it corresponded with the lump in her stomach and was directed at the Star Staff shaking in her grasp. "If you trusted me, you would've told the truth. And if you cared, you never would've let me suffer."

"But you understand the mission," Marco added through his cracking voice. "You, me, The Sect from Moher —we promised to ruin Bishop no matter the pain. That's why that mutant had to leave. He wasn't part of the pact, which you know we must finish together."

"Maybe there's something more than a pact in my life now," whispered Sophia towards the carpet. Her vision caught a faint red spot, a stain from where Michelangelo had been sitting earlier. Before she kicked him out.

' _He wasn't feeling as well as he let on, but I didn't know he was bleeding…_ '

"What do you mean, Sophia?" Marco whispered in return.

Begrudgingly, the blonde met her ex's eyes, peering through their uncertainty. "The mutant who left is named Michelangelo. He and I have been fighting alongside each other for a while now, and you know something? He's never lied. Withheld a bit, yes, but never outright tricked me. Or used me.

"He's genuine to the point where it's freaky, yet I've found that…I like the change. I—I don't question if he'll betray me or if he's acting like I often do. He makes opening up far too easy and that frightens me. Somehow, though, I can't stand the idea of alienating him. Even if his conspiracy theories about you were obnoxious, expelling him was…hard."

"Are you saying you want the pact annulled?"

"I don't know what I want. I just know I—I want to be more than a mission. I want—"

"Michelangelo?"

Marco cut Sophia off with a hard stare. The blonde felt small under it, perhaps because he was right. She didn't want him to be, but he was.

And so she brought her staff close as her eyes found the bedroom window. "You're lucky Mum thinks I'm sleeping still because if she saw you, she'd—"

"Forget diversions, Sophia," Marco snapped. "This is serious. Tell me: have you found a new partner?"

Answering was the last intention on the heroine's list, thus she kept her lips shut. She countered the man's displeasure by placing the Star Staff between them, signifying defiance. The act only darkened his glare. Like, a lot.

' _Wait; that's not just him. Have all the street lamps gone out?_ ' Sophia twisted sideways, first towards her the door then the window. Then, she froze in place.

What blocked the extra lighting filled both panes with its dark fur and numerous bared teeth, and its head alone spanned almost a full meter. What struck Soph as familiar, though, were its bottomless black eyes, which had paralyzed her once before.

"I—it left after taking my necklace," Sophia squeaked while backing up. "Why would it be back?"

"I—I've seen something like this before," Marco noted in an undertone. "In California. But never this—this big. W—why is it just sitting there?"

The blonde had no reason to answer; the beast acted instead. With a ground-shaking howl, it vaulted through the glass plane head-first then swiftly rammed Sophia and Marco through the wall.

* * *

 **A/N:** I did miss me some Nia/Mikey sibling moments. Those two are good confidants for one another. :) As for everything else...trouble's just begun.


	40. Hijack

**A/N:** About time, eh, WOLF?

And here...we...go!

* * *

 **Chapter 39:** **Hijack**

Hun adjusted the Kevlar armor he wore below his IR-masking shirt. Usually, he never worried about such things, since he favored blitz attacks. However, this time he had a plan in mind—a plan which involved specially-tailored suits on all his underlings.

"How does the perimeter look?" he asked Switchblade beside him.

The wavy-haired cyborg flexed his robotic arms, their blue glow brightening in the early morning. "Last sweep looked good. We're all in position, just waiting for Pierce's team."

Hun tsked. "That boy loves to try my patience."

"He's good at going back and forth, ain't he? One minute he's a reckless typhoon setting off fireworks, the next he's successfully gathering intel around Bones and Scales. We wouldn't know Hunt, Rojo, and Little Spice are here otherwise."

"News which was given by Kyle Erlich."

"You have doubts? But Erlich got a special look inside and—"

"If there's one thing my late master me taught well, it's that I can't trust anyone."

"If you aren't positive, then why'd you go through the trouble of herding nearly every PD member around the new EPF building?"

"When storming Agent John Bishop, one can never be too careful. Most of you are a diversion."

They were destined for the roll of pawns from the start, so why did Switchblade glare? Hun scoffed at the cyborg, whirling in the make-shift tent that had been set up for him hours ago. His eyes landed on a crouched female towards the back-most support post, whose wired headset connected her with a high-tech police scanner. She shifted her weight in a telling way and glanced up once before ducking her head again.

"Something wrong, Spike?"

"No, Sir. I mean." She gulped, so Hun narrowed his gaze, knowing she didn't need to see it to feel its impact. "Pierce's team got held back because something happened at HQ."

"Like?"

"T—the Forty-Fours launched an assault in the last hour. Now there's a large police presence. A few PDs have already been arrested. Skunk says…Sir"—Spike's eyes hardened as she pressed the headset closer against her ear—"Hamilton's there. She means to highjack your building."

"Are we heading to HQ, Sir?"

Hun sent Switchblade a stern look then glanced towards the EPF logo that loomed ahead. "After all this planning, I refused to turn around."

"Sir?"

"I'll send a few members, just to keep the police out. But most will remain in position. Little Spice, Rojo, and Hunt are my priorities."

"What about Pierce?"

"H—his contact was cut off," Spike interjected with sigh. "I think he mentioned something about causing a distraction, though."

"Is that so?" Humming, Hun allowed himself a smirk. "That could work out. Nothing gathers the EPF's attention more than a cyborg on a rampage. The fewer soldiers here, the easier this will be."

"So we're going through with the plan."

"Yes, Switchblade. Now"—the mammoth steeled his stance—"prepare yourselves. We attack at dawn."

* * *

"How're the security feeds, Don?" Raphael asked. He gave the large group a subtle glance then loomed over his purple-masked brother.

Knelt in Oswald's enclosed alley, Donatello looked upwards, straight face a lit by his busy tablet. "Videos are looped, alarms are suspended, and since the company has yet to fix the hole in their wall, entry will be easy."

"Guess we could thank Gray for dat."

"In a way."

"What about the lab? Won't people be comin' inta work soon?"

"I have a gas grenade in case there's too many for me to knock out alone. It seems promising, though."

Raph shook his head. "How do ya make it look so easy, Einstein?"

"Well, you see"—Donny lifted his tablet with a smile—"there's an app for that."

"Too bad there ain't an app for healin' family members."

"Raph." Touching his older brother's arm, Donatello drew Raphael's gaze off Nia and Splinter. "I got this. _We_ got this."

"I trust ya, but…" It took a sigh for the hothead to swallow the lump in his dry throat. His eyes found his wife again and he felt so heavy under her tender expression that he couldn't move. "I now know what it's like ta live wit'out Nia. I can't do it again, Don—not indefinitely."

"Know the feeling," Donny countered, sending Melody a quick glance. "Keep faith. While we can't expect to hijack a lab hitch-free, we'll do our damnest to save everyone."

"Language, Donatello," a lighter voice interjected.

Raph met Michelangelo's disapproving stare, knowing it was an act to enhance the youngest brother's joke. "Sensei jabs ain't funny right now, Doofus," he said in an undertone.

"I thought as much," the orange-masked Chūnin admitted with wounded eyes. "Couldn't help trying, though; the whole situation feels crappy. That and this backed-up traffic is making me nervous. Is it normal for there to be so much at five AM, Don?"

"I'm a technician, not a traffic reporter," the genius answered dryly.

"Geez; just asking."

"It doesn't matter anyway. They're busy with their lives, and once our group sets off on the route I designed from the building's blueprints, there will be nothing left to spot in this alley. Take these."

The blue-eyed mutant glanced down at the Shell Cell and red flip phone Donatello forced into his hand. "Why aren't you keeping them?"

Donny flashed a pointed look. "Do you know how many I've had to rebuild during this last year? Believe me, it's become a chore. They have a better chance of survival with you than with…you know."

"Nia?"

"So how will ya keep in touch?" Raphael asked, eyeing Mikey's grin from over his folded arms.

"Mel," answer Don. "She has a frequency in her brain that allows contact with Tabitha and Sven. I've hacked that frequency so my cell can join it. She'll call when everything's done."

"So that's it?" Mikey added with a small shrug. "We're set?"

"Not quite," Raph grumbled.

He left his brothers to head for the group's remainder. Melody sent a silent nod when the hothead passed her, shifting Splinter in her arms like a sleeping child. This led Raph's vision up, towards the towering crocodile mutant that almost blocked the alley's width. Leatherhead had left his lab coat at the Lair and Raph could only speculate the reason why.

' _Maybe he's prepared for a fight after all. I really hope that won't be the case…_ '

LH nodded as well, also silent as April pulled back from a hug she shared with Nia. Thankfully, the redhead knew just what her friend wanted, and so pushed the artist at the Sai master, a small smile across her lips.

"We'll head in first," she said. "Don't take long."

Raph returned her humor with a lopsided grin. He reached for Nia's hand while Melody and Leatherhead headed up Oswald's brick wall in a signal bound. The thick tarp above did little to stop the powerhouse duo, so he held no worries over the people they had carried up.

"Th—they make that look so easy," Nia noted, chuckling.

"Donny will too," Raphael added. "I'm puttin' him in charge 'a ya."

"Huǒ." The couple's grip tightened. "I'll do good."

"Don't doubt that. I just wish it didn't have ta hurt ya."

"Could say the same about you."

Raph sensed his wife's smile before he faced it; but the moment he turned, something struck his heart—a realization. The pale human wasn't worried, not in the least. She stood assured on the asphalt, and a fire lit her gaze in a way that reminded the mutant of their first meeting.

Back then, she had looked dull and stormy. She wallowed in the darkness she'd found in life to the point where she had given up. The young woman standing beside him, however, was a stark contrast. And he had no desire to deny the pride he felt at having been a part of that process.

"The last time I was in this alley, I failed," Nia continued. "I didn't know which strength I was meant to have. Now, I do; thanks to this clan. I won't fail again."

"Know what?" Raph asked. He rested a hand behind Nia's hot neck to bring her in for a quick kiss, although he wanted it to be much longer. When they parted, he rested his forehead against hers, for a closer look at her blue-green eyes. "Hope looks good on ya."

"Thanks," she whispered back.

"Nia"—Donatello's voice cut through the new silence—"we need to go."

"Coming," Nia called behind her.

She sent her husband a final smile, then reached the genius's arms. Raphael watched with a wrenched heart as the duo followed the same path as the others, standing still by the alley's dumpster. He felt glued there until Michelangelo's Shell Cell sounded. Its obnoxious Mario theme song lured Raph to his brother, who squinted at the caller ID.

"Answer it before someone notices, Idiot!" the hothead snarled.

Mikey stuck his tongue out at Raph, but then answered with the call on speaker phone. "Ello?"

"About time one of you damn brothers picked up," Blaine snarled over the scratchy line.

"Woah, woah." Mikey lifted the round phone between him and his brother, glaring at it. "To be fair, I was recently mauled by a monster, so I've been a little preoccupied. I missed your visit to—what'd Don call it? The Pit? Then you never called back. I'm fine, by the way."

"I did call, but none of you picked up!" Blaine's curtness cut through the Chūnin's wit before he sighed. "Forget that. Something's happened."

"You found out where Hugh is?"

"That's partly why I'm calling."

"Why do I get the feeling the other part is for bad news?"

"Because that's our luck."

"What's wrong?" Raph asked.

"A gang war broke out between the Forty-Fours and PDs. Then not long ago, an attack on EPF headquarters was launched."

"All at once?" Mikey interjected, slack-jawed.

"I just got back in town," Blaine continued. "Dropped Donna off at the Precinct. Told Jen and Rina to take Megan and stay as far away from both locations as possible."

"What about Kaiya?"

"That's another part of the issue, Michelangelo. She's on a field trip. The bus is in route, so I'm tracking it before I get the call every parent fears."

"She isn't safe on the bus?"

"No."

"Why?"

"Their field trip is to Oswald Cybernetics."

"I—is it?" Mikey met Raph's wide eyes then swallowed. "That's bad?"

"You kidding?" Blaine's scoff wasn't at all comforting. "Oswald is inside the growing war zone range. I don't want to think what could happen."

Chuckle strained, Mikey eyed the Oswald building. "Yeah; me either."

"I need you guys to help me coordinate a plan to get Hugh and Kaiya back before they're hurt."

"Of course, Blaine. But there's another issue."

"What _now_?"

"Thing is, we're already kind'a in the war zone, and our team is mostly busy. We'll need backup."

"From who? Donna and Noah were called to help Kyle and Damien's with me."

"I don't mean them," Mikey noted with grin. "I was thinking more along the lines of some…cyborg help."

The orange-masked Chūnin need only lift Don's phone for Raph to understand, so he matched his brother's smirk with gusto. ' _I did offer 'em a chance ta work as part 'a our team. Now would be the time. God knows what can happen ta kids in a war zone…'_

* * *

Kaiya wiggled in her bench seat, sighing as the field trip leader spoke with the bus driver six rows ahead. "We're still stuck," she told her orange-haired friend.

Jakob Nass twisted by the two-panel window then sunk back into the spot beside the blonde with a pout. "No cars are moving. We've been here _forever_."

"Twenty minutes is hardly forever," another young voice interjected.

Kaiya knew just the look to send Jasmine Wang and did so with extra annoyance across the narrow bus aisle. "Feels like it," she countered, bitter. "It'd be better if we could fly instead."

"Like a rocket," Jakob added. Then, he jumped. "Oh, like Miss Tabi! I bet Miss Tabi could fly us to the lab."

"It's not _just_ a lab," spat Jasmine, straightening in her seat by the aisle. Her dark almond eyes grew into thin slits that made her puffed lips look much bigger, so Kaiya crossed her arms to show she wasn't scared. "It's a cybernetic research center, Kai—the best in the country."

"As if I care," Kaiya grumbled while gripping her skull-print shirt. The young blonde had seen enough labs to last her lifetime, honestly, and when Jasmine used the word 'research', an unwanted shiver shot through her bones.

"You wanna be a scientist when you grow up; right, Jas?" asked Jakob over his friend's head.

With a huff, Kaiya shook off the weight between her pigtails then waited for the dark-haired girl to continue as Jakob slipped off the leather seat.

Jasmine blinked below her blunt bangs. "I want to be a science teacher. Like BaBa is."

" _Was_ ," someone butt in. The harsh, boyish tone belonged to Jasmine's seat partner and older brother, Terry.

Generally, he said little. Kaiya always thought that was because he hated being stuck in a class with younger students. ' _Daddy did say kids feel bad when they fail a grade. And he'd be embarrassed if his little sister skipped ahead like Jasmine did._ '

"BaBa isn't a teacher anymore, Jas," Terry added with a sigh.

"You don't know that," Jasmine countered, glaring at her short-haired sibling.

"He disappeared from jail. You know what Misses Wang said about that."

"He could be teaching somewhere else. Then when he has money again, he'll come get us. He promised."

"That's not true."

"Yes, it is!"

"If it was, we would've kept our last name."

"Why does that matter? We were adopted. We had to—"

"Face it, Jasmine; we're no longer Kims. BaBa's _never_ coming back!"

"Terry, would you please remain seated?" a male teacher chided from the bus's rear.

Terry did as commanded with attitude. He crossed his arms then slumped in his seat, eyes set ahead. "Believe what you want. I don't care…"

"Hey"—to break the silence, Jakob leaned into Kaiya so the two almost fell into the aisle—"can we talk about something else? Every time your dad's mentioned, Terry gets us in trouble."

"Whatever," Terry hissed.

"How about we go outside?"

"The teachers would never let us off, Jakob," Jasmine said.

The carrot-top flashed a gap-toothed smile, blue eyes wide as he pointed towards the window. "Why not? Everyone else is out of their cars."

"Move over," Kaiya demanded.

She shoved her friend behind her for a better view. Beyond the window, many empty cars sat in the street like a ghost town, but it wasn't as quiet as one. A group rushed by the bus as if outrunning a monster. They were screaming, even, and the blonde felt her blood run cold when the grown-ups cursed at the bus's front.

"Young ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention?"

Kaiya didn't like the way this new adult spoke—not one bit. He sounded too similar to the fat doctor, whose laughter made the girl's teeth chatter when she brought her eyes ahead. A dark-skinned man stood before the windshield, his slender figure outlined by the rising sun.

A gross smile crossed his face that he soon directed at the children in the front row. "Excuse me," he started, "do any of you know how to drive this thing? Seems I sorta—oops."

The man shrugged while lifting his arms. They weren't normal arms; they ended in metallic claws, whose sharp points stuck out like bloody needles from two bodies. "These guys weren't important, were they?"

The children in the rows ahead whimpered then cried when the cyborg kicked the grown-ups off his hands. Their unmoving forms sunk into the aisle like bags of sand as he took the driver's seat, saying,

"Pardon me while I highjack your bus; there's some place I gotta be."

* * *

 **A/N:** Now crap is about to hit the fan. Not sure if any of you made the connection; it's been over a year since "Hollow Hearts" came out. But Jasmine and Terry Kim (now Wang) are the children of Joseph Kim, a notable cellmate of Hall F who added to Leonardo's...unraveling. :P


	41. Bus 290 (Part 1)

**A/N:** Oh gosh, Sciencegirl. Just got an imagine of you spritzing Pierce with a spray bottle. XD

Now, the climax officially begins.

* * *

 **Chapter 40:** **Bus 290 (Part 1)**

Blaine tried to remain stoic; however, his speeding police cruiser betrayed any control he faked. Its tires squealed while rounding a street corner then swerved to avoid collision with a tractor trailer's grill. He sideswiped a parked Honda along the way, but so long as he maintained momentum, he didn't care.

"You're remembering to spot pedestrians, aren't you?" Damien asked from the passenger seat. A quick glance revealed his knuckles were white from gripping the handle above the window.

That didn't prevent Blaine from shifting into fifth gear once again. "Just pick up the damn radio and ask Dispatch if they've gotten any calls!"

The dark-skinned man growled before complying. His unsteady hand left the center counsel to remove a walkie-talkie from its mount, pressing the side button. "Dispatch, this is Officer Blaine Williams, Nineteenth Precinct. Again. Have you found the whereabouts of bus two-ninety from Bloomingdale School?"

"I will ignore that blatant impersonation because I know how recklessly Officer Williams is driving," the female responder replied. A bit of amusement left her tone light, although it soon darkened. "The bus hasn't reported into OCC yet. There's dead traffic along Broadway heading into Eighth and…wait, wait. A woman reported a bus driving against traffic in Midtown. It's plowed through cars up Eighth and nearly crushed her turning onto West Fifty-Seventh. It's—oh, God…"

"What?" Blaine hissed. When Dispatch didn't respond, the blonde stole the walkie-talkie from Damien to scream, "Emily!"

There was another pause before Emily replied, her voice trembling. "The report says th—the bus door was open. Three bodies fell out. Two dead, one jumped ship. He was a teacher, Sir. He…he left the kids inside."

* * *

"What are we gunna do?" Jasmine croaked from the bus aisle. "H—H—he was the only grown-up left, and he—he—"

"Ditched us, Jas," Terry followed up. The dark-haired boy braced himself along the broken glass in the walkway; then, gripped his sister to keep her from falling against the rubber mat when the bus turned. "We're on our own."

"But—"

"We'll find another way off."

"Like how?" Jakob asked. He sent the older kid a pointed look, which melted into surprise once the bus jerked again.

This jerk was more powerful than the others before it, so Kaiya found herself sliding into the aisle with the Wangs. Her head slammed against the metal bench frame behind her and Jakob followed, landing crossways on her stomach as a fierce grinding rattled their bodies.

Cringing, Kai glanced up at the buildings now blocking the right side windows. Their blurred shapes met the glass with frightful scrapes then shattered them completely with a single slam. Shards instantly spread through the slim space like ocean spray and Kai screwed her eyes shut at the painful cries of her classmates.

"Damn old ladies," the cyborg growled at the bus' head. "You'd think they'd have enough sense to get out'a the way. Eh, kids? "

Only snivels answered him.

"All well. Least we don't have bullets flying at us anymore."

The freak started laughing again, except Kaiya found nothing funny about the busted windshield. It reminded her of the bad words that had roared beyond their cage, just before startling bangs forced all the kids to one side.

"He's going to kill us," a soft voice whimpered.

Kaiya, shifting along the rubber aisle, spotted a fellow classmate curled against his seat. Blood ran down his temple in a thick stream—either from a bullet or glass—and he sniffled with his fingers dug deeply into the cracked leather.

"I—it'll be okay, Danny," she said over the driver's excited hoot. "My Daddy's on his way. I know he is."

"What if he's too late?" Danny countered, gasping for air. "What if he ends up like those other policemen? _Dead_!"

"He won't!"

So what if Danny didn't believe the blonde? Knowing that bothered her less than her memories did. Similar thoughts had haunted her inside Hall F, and she found herself shaking before realizing it.

"He has a point," Terry interjected. "I don't even hear sirens any more. We should stop the bus ourselves."

"No!" Jasmine gripped her brother's shirt, so he couldn't stand. "Y—you saw what he did to the grown-ups. Wh—what can we do? We're just kids…"

' _Just kids?_ ' Kaiya studied her pale hands. At one point, they had been cut by glass from the shooting. Now, only red stains remained. _'I'm stronger than the teachers. I could jump out and be okay. But…_ '

The seven-year-old glanced down the aisle at the children on the dirty floor. Not one tried to stand anymore, which only fueled Kaiya's desire to do so. ' _No; I'm not like Mister Hoskins. I'm like Mister Leonardo, and he never left me._ '

That settled it. Kaiya pushed Jakob off her stomach then rose.

A terrible chill met her once upright—air that blew through the broken windshield and up her shirt. It whipped her wavy hair about like a tornado and threatened to knock her back with its roar. Yet she followed the walkway, keeping low in case the cyborg decided to use the harmed rearview mirror.

' _I just have to stop the bus_ ,' she thought, swallowing. The idea sounded simple. Still, when she neared the front seats, her shakes had become so uncontrollable that she stumbled forward.

"What do ya think you're doing, kid?" the mean man asked.

Kaiya jumped at his snarl, nearly falling down the stairwell as he plowed through another car. The surprise forced her to grip the railing to the point where its metal bent. Kai meant to erase her mistake by hiding it with her body. Unfortunately, the driver's dark eyes proved she had been too late.

"Strong grip, Sweetie," he said with a smirk. "Where'd you get it?"

Was he excited? Please, say he wasn't.

The seven-year-old shook her head, refusing to think about the 'where'. But the longer she remained quiet, the less attention the cyborg paid on the busy road. His knife-like hands teased her to come closer, and he ignored steering altogether when he began stopping and going—just to make the girl squeeze the railing over and over.

"Come on, you can tell your buddy Pierce," he said while speeding again. "Don't you wanna be friends?"

"No!" Kaiya countered. "I want you to let everybody off."

"How am I supposed to distract cops then? Get with the program, kid; you're bait until I reach the EPF."

"Not anymore!"

That said, Kaiya propelled herself across the bus. She hit the man in the chest with her fists, sickened by a faint crack that followed. The attack forced Pierce against the metal wall beside him, so as he gasped, the blonde's foot hovered over the pedals.

' _Which one makes it stop? Maybe…this one?_ '

Wrong.

"Little bitch!" Pierce cried over the engine's rev. His elbow split Kaiya's lip, although the cut healed in the seconds she needed to take hold of the steering wheel. "Get off!"

Kaiya shook her head of flying hairs then lifted her foot to press a different pedal. It immediately fell back into place, though, cemented by Pierce's boot.

' _T—that's never happened before. I can always push people away. Unless—_ '

His leg was pure metal.

"So you ain't as strong as Silver Sentry, eh?" Pierce whispered into Kaiya's ear.

His breath stunk, so the girl turned both her head and the steering wheel aside

"Idiot, what are you doing?"

With a jolt, the bus took a hard right, exiting off the main street, and Kaiya braved the bitter winds to glance ahead. She saw a couple of orange and white stripped signs and a clear road heading towards the sun.

"Let go!" Pierce used a shoulder blade to force Kaiya away when the bus rammed the signs, but she kept her grip strong, meaning to lift her foot no matter what. "I said let _go_!"

Pain flared through Kaiya's leg like fire, like Recro-12. Its burn made her scream, and one of her hands left the steering wheel to grab the knife-fingers Pierce jabbed through her jeans. He growled in return, twisting his wrist for every second Kaiya remained defiant.

"I'm warning ya, Kid. This can end very badly if you—"

Enough talking! Kaiya narrowed her eyes then gripped the steering wheel with all her might. The cyborg tried to stop her all too late; the wheel broke from the twist she gave it. Perhaps it was too hard of a turn.

The bus hit the ramp's barrier like a bumper car before sliding sideways. In the moment that the tires skipped off the asphalt, Kaiya's askew gaze caught the rising sun, which revealed a literal end to their road. Beyond that lay only a red sky, which she knew she had just doomed everyone to meet once the bus started rolling.

* * *

Kaiya's name was stuck in Blaine's throat like a pill refusing to go down. It prevented him from breathing, although his mad dash along an overpass guardrail could've been a factor as well.

"Blaine!" Damien screamed. He likely stood beside the officer's abandoned cruiser and growled in frustration from its poor position. "If that bus doesn't stop, you'll just add to the body count!"

Blaine only sped up.

He had watched bus two-ninety overturn then start rolling along Unfinished Bridge mere seconds ago and it had yet to stop. A low vantage meant he could no longer spot the carnage, but he could hear it. Beyond the traffic, moaning metal sang—a song which grew softer the closer Blaine came to the scaffolding that arched over the roadway.

Good, the bus was slowing down.

The issue now? Where would it stop?

Unfinished Bridge ended above the busy overpass like a half rainbow. Bright sparks preceded a ballooning yellow shape. The bus's tailgate. It met then passed the scaffolding, looming further over the edge while crushing the supports. There, it teetered.

"Kaiya!" Blaine cried.

He stepped forward, although a force pulled him back. He stumbled towards the guardrail with a curse, twisting at a bang beside him. A swift breeze followed as he spotted the emergency door from the bus, nestled inside a small crater on the road—right where he had been standing.

"What'd I tell you?"

Blaine met Damien's glare then glanced up. "So long as nothing shifts inside, the bus should stay up. We just need—we need to get up there."

"Hey, Damien, thanks for saving my life," the dark-skinned man said to no one. "Maybe you aren't such a bad ex-PD after all." Sliding sideways, Damien continued. "No problem, Man. I'm here to help."

"You want to help? Clear traffic around this area."

"With what? My body?"

"I'm sure you'll find a way. Now go!"

Blaine shooed the retired gangster away then sucked in a deep breath that steeled him against the pitiful sight past the emergency exit. Children were strewn across the bus's bent ceiling. The vehicle creaked with their whimpers and it was obvious they were stuck until adult help found them. If only he could reach them now.

' _They don't know to be careful,_ ' he thought, searching for Kaiya. ' _When they wake up, they'll just be scared and want out. We need to stabilize the bus before—_ '

"Kaiya?" Blaine squinted at a slender figure who sat up near the bus' center. She remained quiet while glancing around the unofficial tunnel, but seemed to notice its incline within moments. "Baby, don't move!" he shouted when she glanced over her shoulder.

God, did she look lost and bloodied in the morning rays. However, Blaine knew he had to maintain his anger, so his daughter would remain calm.

"H—how are you doing, Kai?" he shouted many yards above him.

The little girl ran a hand through her matted hair, her lips quivering. "I—I—just—help—not—happen."

"Just stay where you are, Baby. Help's coming. So don't—don't—Kaiya, I said _don't_ move!"

"He's still here!" Kai shouted back. Her voice broke as she faced the bus' front then slowly rose to a knee.

Although the bus made the faintest of sounds, it beat inside Blaine's chest like a drum. "Stop!"

His demand went ignored. Kaiya stood and when she moved, Blaine noticed another risen body. It was an adult, dark-skinned with tight braids falling over his shoulders. Cuts littered his body as if he had been in a knife fight, and his puffed lip curled upwards before he spat God-knows-what at the child's feet.

' _That bastard's so lucky I'm not up there._ '

"Think it's over, Little Bitch?" he asked. Kaiya stood her ground, squaring her shoulders, so the man snorted, lifting a handless arm. "You're gunna pay for _this_! All you brats are!"

The man lifted a boot then beat it against the metallic ceiling. It shuddered, groaned, and then tilted.

"Shit! Shit! Shit!"

Although Blaine had no chance of stopping the bus, he also lacked a will to move. He watched, slack-jawed, as its front end lifted higher and higher into the red-orange sky. And he fought tears when Kaiya raced towards her attacker. She used her super speed, which expelled the man from bus. Unfortunately, he had gotten a hit in as well.

His leg counteracted Kaiya's momentum to send her flying the opposite direction. She barreled through the bus like a rocket, heading straight for the overpass.

Catching her would likely crush Blaine, but what choice did he have? He spread his arms and prayed he could at least cushion her fall.

* * *

 **A/N:** I know it's OC heavy. But I like to think you care about them enough at this point not to mind. None of them are having a good day...


	42. Bus 290 (Part 2)

**A/N:** Sorry for no chapter yesterday. Cousin got married. Family was too fun not to get lost in. LOL. Now, we're having a party. But here's this before I take off. XD

 _D_ \- Stupid system errors. I hate 'em. Anyways. No roof? Already? Well then. It'll be interesting to see just HOW high the crap will pile up, then. ;D

 _Sciencegal_ \- You already know what that review makes me want to doodle.

WOLF - Prepare for more. ;)

* * *

 **Chapter 40:** **Bus 290 (Part 2)**

Kaiya was falling.

It hadn't been her plan, but there was no choice. Pierce had sent her downwards, so her body curled through the wind, prepared to meet either a road or a car.

Maybe it wouldn't hurt as much as she feared it would?

"Not today, sweetie!"

Kaiya knew that voice. She knew it well, in fact, and it rang in her ear just as she started falling sideways. Wait; not falling, flying.

"Miss Tabi!" Kaiya cheered.

The yellow-eyed cyborg flashed a smirk, spiraling up before swooping towards the lower road like a falcon. She looked beautiful against the early-morning sky. Sunlight glistened off her metallic wings and she sent the teetering bus a serious glance that reminded the girl of Leonardo.

Her presence alone squashed Kaiya's fear and made her realize just how badly she wanted to be a hero. ' _Which I failed at. Would Mister Leonardo be disappointed?_ '

Kai had no time to consider an answer; the thought was pushed from her mind as the bus slipped from the bridge. She found herself shoved in someone's arms and glanced up to find the smoky trail left from the cyborg's rocket boots. It led her to Tabi's struggle with the bus's back end, where the teen pushed against it with all her might.

"My fuel won't last forever!" Tabitha shouted, chin on the emergency exit's lip. "Get the kids out, Blaine!"

When had she picked up Daddy? Kai could only wonder as the older blonde entered the bus and started gathering children.

"You okay, Kaiya?"

Gasping, Kai faced the man holding her. "Oh, Damien."

"Learning to drop the 'mister', eh?" The dark-skinned grown-up smiled then placed the girl on her feet. He nudged her sideways, yet she leaned against him, unwilling to let go of her only comfort. "Are you hurt?"

"N—no. Y—yes? I—I-I don't—"

"Let me see." Damien knelt in a clearing Kaiya hadn't noticed before.

There was a circle of cars around the duo, not all of which were upright. Some smoked from their bent hoods while others were simply dented on the doors, and they formed piles on both sides of the road.

Had they crashed because of the door that fell? Did that make it her fault?

"I see blood, but no cuts. Kaiya, what happened?"

Kaiya's eyes found Damien again. She met his confused look with a straight face then fiddled with the holes in her dirty jeans. "That guy, h—he…he stole the bus, killed the teachers. I—I had to help."

"What guy?"

"The one with claw hands."

"Claw?" Damien's brown eyes widened. "Pierce? Did he say his name was Pierce?"

"Y—yeah."

"You _fought_ Pierce?"

Kaiya was unsure if she should answer since it could give away her secret. So she tugged her jeans, ripping them further, and glanced away.

"He stabbed you, didn't he?" Damien asked, but he sounded like he already knew the truth. With a sigh, he placed a hand again Kai's leg, whose tender skin twitched. "It's healed already…Hey"—Damien pulled the girl closer when she stepped back—"no need to worry about me knowing. I'm already involved in more than I bargained for."

"Y—you're okay with it?"

"If I'm fine with mutants, I'm fine with anything," the grown-up grumbled. "It makes sense considering last December. You know what you did was reckless, though, right? If you didn't heal—"

"But I do."

"Not everyone is like that, Kaiya. Your classmates up there? They aren't like you."

Kai looked up at Daddy and Tabitha, still hard at work in the sky. "I only meant to stop the bus…I—I'm sorry."

"You were in a war zone, and you did the best you could. Guess I wouldn't have been able to sit still either."

"Because you aren't a bad guy anymore?"

The grown-up looked struck. His mouth hung open for a good few seconds then snapped shut. He didn't reply. Maybe that was because something else caught his attention.

Sirens. They almost drowned out the hum from Tabitha's rocket boots and brought attention to Unfinished Bridge.

"EPF," Damien whispered. He stood with a hand on Kaiya, glaring at the orange lights approaching the bus.

"Wh—why are they here?" Kaiya asked, gulping. She looked up for an answer; however, Damien was too busy cursing, mumbling something about Daddy.

* * *

Blaine fell on his knee with a colorful curse.

"A—are you okay, Mister Williams?"

"I'm fine, Terry," the officer grumbled. He situated the young Chinese boy higher on his hip then tried again to grab hold of a bus seat.

"Will you move up already?" Tabitha's shrill voice cut through the rocket noises behind Blaine and caused him to blanch.

"Hey, it's not easy using these things as steps!" he cried.

"Easy? You wanna see something that ain't easy? Look down here!"

The man had no intention of complying—since Kaiya would only distract him below—but a sudden shift convinced him otherwise. He met Tabitha's wide eyes as the bus groaned then hissed when it sent him sliding down the ceiling towards the straining cyborg.

The momentum was fierce, yet rolling sideways gave Blaine the chance to grip a window frame. He did so, regardless of the stabbing glass, and ensured Terry remained with him.

"You good?" Tabitha yelled.

Blaine glared up at the bus's mangled hood, deliberately ignoring her. "Great; now we're holding on by a wheel."

"Then may I suggest you get your _ass_ moving, Officer!"

Any other day the blonde would scold the teen. Now was the worst day of all, however.

With a huff, he abandoned the seats in favor of the windows, using them to overcome the slippery incline to its peak—the broken entrance door. He had no need to pry it open for Terry to exit; the folding glass door was now permanently wedged inward. Not a good sign for an adult needing to escape, but Blaine had already prepared himself to jump through the shattered windshield.

"Your sister's outside," Blaine said, pointing at a still figure along the bridge's fractured end. "You'll need to be brave and jump to her, okay? Like I couldn't. Make sure you get her away from the ledge."

"Okay, but"—the battered boy sniffed—"where's Kaiya? I—I—I haven't seen her. She tried to help us and I was…I was too scared to—"

"It's alright, Terry. She's fine."

"No; she wasn't! He hurt her; I saw the blood!"

"Terry," Blaine spoke calmly, brushing a finger over a cut on the Asian's chin, "You did fine."

"But I—I'm the oldest. I should've helped, and I let her…I—I'm sorry, Mister Williams."

"Don't be. Bravery takes years to build."

"Not for Kaiya…"

Blaine pursed his lips at the unavoidable truth then sighed at Terry's downcast look. "Come on, get going."

Urging the boy towards the upside-down entrance, he watched Terry slip through the narrow space, land on the bridge, and then pick up Jasmine. Once the Wangs joined the remaining students along the high wall behind them, Blaine twisted on the stairwell and cursed again.

' _I was hoping my mind overreacted when I heard their sirens_ ,' he thought. But of course, things like that only worked out in Hugh's case. ' _They should be sending rescue vehicles, not the EPF. Damn idiots._ '

Worse still, it was a single responder in an armored vehicle no bigger than a delivery truck. A stoic woman stood by its open back, her hands tucked behind her while a fog seeped from its dark insides. Two men in EPF uniforms flanked on either side, although they were of little interest when compared with the metallic mammoth before her.

"Oliver James LeBeau," the woman said. "This is Agent Barrett with the Earth Protection Force. Surrender now or face lethal force."

"Fat chance, vampire lady," her opponent replied, sour.

Debris shifted before Blaine spotted the ex-hijacker. The lean cyborg stood with a hunch on Unfinished Bridge, gripping his handless arm against his ribs. It sputtered sparks still, so Blaine hoped it stung as badly as it looked.

"The Commissioner has sent us to detain you and retrieve the hostages," continued Barrett. "If you surrender now, we could—"

"Take me in and turn me into a puppet, like Hunt?" The gangster snorted then kicked rubber from a blown tire at the larger cyborg. "Forget it. I'm Pierce and I only have one boss."

Barrett flashed a blank stare. Blaine had no idea if she felt annoyed or excited when Pierce readied his stance, but she was quick to nod when the gangster glanced over his shoulder at the kids. Bastard. He headed straight for Terry until Blaine blinked.

In that moment, Hunt gripped Pierce's ankle, tossing him towards bus two-ninety. The bus shuddered at the impact against its grill and Blaine fell against the stairwell, his top half swinging over its edge.

"Blaine, get the redhead and move already!"

"Right!" he cried back at Tabitha, breathless.

Jakob was the last kid who needed saving. If anything, Blaine owed it to Sven to rescue him since the cyborg was off with Michelangelo and Raphael, doing the same for Hugh. He could only hope they were faring better than him as he slid down the ceiling, reaching for the boy spread out on the bus's back window.

* * *

"Will ya hurry up?" Raphael grumbled. He glared at the tuft of orange hair before him, fingering the sais he had kept despite changing into his Nightwatcher outfit. "I thought ya were a super lock picker or somethin', Nass."

"I am," Sven countered, dull. "But this is EPF technology we're dealing with. Doctor"—the cyborg paused while tensing—"Stephens had no means of reverse engineering their safety protocols and—"

"Dun't talk me ta death. Just…hurry up."

With a sigh, Raph leaned against the white-stone wall that divided his group from the EPF's latest headquarters. Several Purple Dragons had tried stopping them along the way. However, those punks were dealt with quickly and decorated the secluded parking lot meant for Bishop's core soldiers.

"What are ya doin', Titan Doofus?" Raph asked Michelangelo.

The green and black hero scoffed in return, seated Indian style on an obese gangster the younger Hamato had knocked out with his nunchaku.

"Ya still tryin' ta call Pink?"

Mikey snapped his Shell Cell shut then groaned. "Figured it wouldn't hurt before we go inside. Since you didn't let me visit."

The hothead growled at his brother's pointed look. "We got more pressin' matters, Mike. Blaine confirmed Hugh was here—"

"No, Kyle confirmed it."

"Like it matters. He's their mole, right? An' he's wit' Donna 'n Noah at the front, fightin' alongside EPF grunts. They can keep focus there while we go through here."

"Who's to say that guy from the Pit is even right? What if Bishop didn't use his blue prints? What if there isn't an escape route?"

"Ya think Bishop would build anythin' wit'out an escape in mind?"

"Well, not really."

"I get ya, Bro. But it's the only lead we got an'," the mutant's deep voice lowered like his gaze, "Hugh's been here long enough. On our behalf."

"What happens after we break him out though?" Mikey asked. "He…he'll be a fugitive until his name's cleared."

"We'll conquer that hurdle when it comes…"

"Guys, I got it!"

"About time, Nass." Pushing off the wall, Raphael watched Sven. The orange-eyed cyborg grinned then stepped back as a once-hidden door swung outwards. The hope it stirred was short-lived, though.

"How nice of you to get the door for us."

' _Thanks, Turtle Luck._ ' Raph thought. His sais twirled in his hands, his expression grim when he faced the sun-lit parking lot. Hun—dressed in amour unlike any before—strolled towards them with a grin on his square face and a glint in his eye.

"Hold it, Hunny," Michelangelo interjected with his arms spread. "This is our secret entrance. Go find your own."

"Now why would I do that when it would be so much easier to just go through you?" Hun countered, cracking his golf-ball-sized knuckles. He sniggered then his gaze landed on Sven behind the mutants. "I see you brought yours. Well, I brought mine too."

"Hey, Cyborgs are people, not dogs," Mikey spat. He eyed Switchblade when the blonde appeared from God-knows where, but then lightened his tone. "I'll make exceptions for yours, though."

"If I take the big guy, can you handle Switchblade?" questioned Raph under his breath.

Sven rounded the hero, towards the blonde. "I spent years fighting my father, a drunk fallen boxer. I think I can keep him busy."

"Sometimes, that's all we can ask."

"And others?"

"We pray for a miracle. Now go; we've gotta get Hugh out before the EPF wraps things up."

Sven wasted no time in darting after Switchblade. He body slammed the gangster into a parked van, and its crash brought a roar to Hun's throat. ' _Man, I hope Blaine's found bus two-ninety_ ' Raph thought, prepping for attack. ' _Someone in our group needs good news_.'

* * *

Tabitha Fall found it impossible to believe humans made a sport out of pulling buses and rigs. How could anyone find it thrilling? The task was beyond stressful, and she knew the only way the forty-five foot child carrier remained hooked on Unfinished Bridge was thanks to her rocket boots.

Boots, mind you, which would soon eat all their fuel.

"Dammit!"

There goes Blaine again, like an anchor. Tabi braced herself for his third fall from the bus's front by remaining focused on her rockets. A crack sounded in her ear as he collided with the glass—a horrible noise that caused the cyborg to grimace when she faced the man. Jakob whimpered in his hold, a sniffling mess Sven would hate to see, and was too scared to pull away from Blaine's chest.

' _Shit!_ '

With a low creak, the wide bumper dug deeper into Tabitha's arms. Her limbs protested their ten ton load with tingling pains through her shoulder blades and neck, and her eyes felt incredibly heavy. However, the Nubian knew not to give into fatigue—not until Jakob was safe.

' _Sometimes, I wish Stephens had changed my arms like the others. Least then I'd have extra leverage...like Mel._ '

"Seriously, Damien!" Blaine's sudden voice startled Tabitha. "Take Kaiya away!"

Geez; hadn't the cop screamed at Damien, like, five times already? If Kaiya wouldn't move, what kept Damien from—oh, right. Super strength. Given that Blaine promptly hit his head against the metal frame between him and Tabi, the teen could safely assume the stubborn child brushed off the ex-gangster's hand with every attempt he made.

Sad, but Kai wasn't a current concern.

"H—how's it lookin', Blaine?" Tabitha asked through labored breaths.

Blaine lifted his chin, nostrils flaring against the fractured glass that supported him. "Everyone's cleared, except for my persistent little girl and Damien. Think you could fly us out instead?"

"Would—wouldn't move fast enough," Tabi replied, huffing. She blinked, but then her eyelids refused to open again. "Sleep sounds…really good."

"Hey!" Blaine ran his fingers down the Nubian's flush cheek until her sight refocused on his stern stare. "You can do this, Tabitha."

"D—don't talk like I'm a kid."

"To me, you are. So take a breath and—"

"Mister LeBeau, you leave us no choice."

Why was Agent Barrett still talking? Throughout the fight between Hunt and Pierce—a battle Tabi could only follow through grunts and insults—she had made few comments here and there. They were always hollow, though; as if they'd been pre-written. Considering she worked for Bishop, maybe they had been.

However, those words weren't as disconcerting as the high-power whirl that echoed over Unfinished Bridge.

"What's that?" Tabitha raised her cheek from the smooth ceiling, unsure of when she had laid her head down.

Above, she saw only white metal shadowed by leather seats. Bus two-ninety's busted windshield provided some insight beyond an orange sky, yet the harder Tabi tried to spot movement through the sunrays, the tighter her muscles grew.

It was like a Charlie Horse throughout her whole body—severe and without relief. Soon, stiffness set in to the point where she could hardly breathe, let alone lift a finger. As she grew hot, an invisible force tugged her metal parts and she shivered at the tension it put on her skin—like it could rip her face, wings, and feet off her body if its power increased.

Maybe it could…

"Tabitha, we need to—"

"Leave."

"What?"

"B—Blaine"—Tabitha's voice shook as she fought for control over her sputtering rockets—"I—I can't move."

"You said that before."

"No. I mean, I _really_ can't move." Facing the blonde was out of the question, but she could send him a sidelong glance.

Blaine furrowed his brows in her peripheral vision, asking, "What do you mean?"

"Uh—um, Mister Blaine?" Jakob dared unbury his face from his protector's chest. "A—are we floating?"

That would explain why Tabitha felt like she was keeping a boogey board underwater. She scowled as her boots fought against her, well aware of how light the bus became and how distant Kaiya's cries grew. The girl's voice was instead replaced by Pierce's curses, and before the teen even spotted the gangster, she addressed Blaine,

"G—get out."

"Are you kidding?" Blaine retorted. "I don't even know what the fu—" He paused. " _Hell_ is going on."

"The cy—cyborgs stopped," Jakob noted.

Following the carrot-top's pointed finger, Tabitha peered through the window frame many yards ahead. Not that she had much choice since her face was cemented that direction, but at least she had a good view of Unfinished Bridge when the bus two-ninety leveled out. In mid air.

Beyond a few craters and debris, Hunt stood with his arms transformed—both of which looked like sleek cannons accentuated by glowing blue lines. Their dark metal vibrated with a hum, which convinced Tabitha it had been the source of the high-pitched whirl from earlier and the anomaly that lifted all metal in its path.

' _A magnet or sorts?_ _Would explain why I'm not the only cyborg who can't move._ '

Pierce was stuck as well, although his position looked less comfortable. Above the marred road, his back arched with his feet seeking to meet what little remained of the cyborg's robotic hands. They neared closer together with the passing seconds and he cursed hysterically through each one.

"Bishop hoped it wouldn't come to this," said Barrett. She sounded bored, wherever she stood. "The Commissioner, however, has granted us permission. Agent Zero, activate code 'Offline'."

Time froze with a single sound.

The high-pitched whirl returned—this time so loud Tabitha was left senseless. It lasted a second then eased into a low tone that fell silent on the teen's ears before it popped. The pop was the worst part; it ended with a cold discomfort in Tabi's chest and a gasp in her throat as she watched Pierce convulse.

Her body then shook. It was a soft tremble, which raced from her heart to her neck, jaw, back, and stomach in pulses. Had she the energy, she would've heaved at the lightheaded nausea it roused. But the brightness filling her vision stole her breath and spun her world.

"Tabitha!"

Blaine's voice sounded muddled. Had he always been so far away?

"Tabitha!"

The coldness increased, burying the teen's chest under an iceberg. She no longer struggled with her load; she couldn't. So she brought her attention to Blaine, arms still wrapped around the bus' back bumper.

"Jump," she whispered.

"I—" Blaine swallowed hard then shook his head.

"M—my boots are cutting out. Pl—please…jump."

Did reason not matter anymore? Tabi no longer had control—neither over the bus nor her body—and her eyes begged for rest.

"We can all jump," the cop added. "I'll grab you and we'll run straight out, onto the bridge."

' _He doesn't understand. Or maybe he does. Even if he can't hear…heart…slowing._ '

"You know I—I can't.," Tabitha managed. Who knew talking without air would be so difficult?

"You sure?"

The teen met Blaine's gaze. She had to spot him through a wonky haze of blurred shapes, but flashed a smile anyway. Whatever was happening to her body, she knew it was coming to an end, and she needed Jakob off the bus before then.

"M—Miss Tabi?"

Tabi's smile strengthened. "Be good fo—for your brother, Ja."

"Are you going somewhere?"

The teen had no answer. The sun's rays had encased her in a cocoon, although she felt frigid at the center of its light. Maybe that meant something?

' _When did my heart become so loud? Bet I could ask Mel…but she and Sven are busy. They have others…to save._ '

"C—can you do something for me?" Tabitha whispered.

Blaine stayed quiet, which the cyborg prayed meant he would.

"Tell Mel…I found it. It…was with helping others, like hers. That makes me…ha…happy…"

A long sigh left Tabitha's body relaxed. In an instant, all her strain dried up. Her rockets cut out, her wings lowered, and silence reigned as numbness crept through her veins. She watched Blaine force himself up then dart for the horizon beyond bus two-ninety. Then, she heard her heart beat for the last time.


	43. Activate

**Chapter** 41:

 **Activate**

Oswald's central research lab was generic in Donatello's eyes. Large enough where Leatherhead had no need to mind his tail, but still generic. Its monochromatic palette spanned from the swindle stools and connecting desks to the shelves lining every wall, save one that the genius assumed provided the bathroom entrances.

His cold feet shifted across the linoleum floor and his eyes darted to his tablet again. The app on it was still running, ensuring the group inside remained hidden. That did little to ease his muscles.

' _Time's running out. Whatever hit the building a while ago caused a lot of commotion. We can barricade the lab if necessary, but…we'd never get out undetected._ '

"Nia, stop flinching." Melody's sharp tone lured her husband's attention beyond the lab's desks, where the cyborg stood beside a blood donor chair.

Nia reclined against its leather and held her bare arm with a sigh. "I—I know," she said, glancing towards the second chair cradling Splinter. "Donny-niichan scolds me too."

On any other day, Donatello would've seized the opportunity for teasing. Right now, though, he felt too heavy. Splinter's wheezing served as a constant reminder of what was at stake, and no matter how many times the Chūnin saw his sister in a cami, he couldn't get over the plasma burn across her collar bone or the scars littering the inside of her forearms.

"It's just a prick, Nia," April added. The redhead rounded Splinter, having already hooked up his intravenous line to an empty blood bag on a saline stand between the chairs.

"It's not the pain," the artist muttered. "It's the needle. All I want to do is toss it."

"For Splinter's sake, I hope you do not."

April sent Melody a pointed stare as Nia sighed again. "Jabs like that are never helpful."

"I know a few who would disagree," the cyborg countered with a subtle glare.

"Like who?"

"Doesn't matter. She needs to give me her arm, and she needs to do it while Splinter's still breathing."

"Gray—"

"Friends." Leatherhead's tail cut through the women's stand off like a guillotine. Attention now on him, the crocodile mutant flashed an uneasy smile. "How do we expect to heal one of our own when we waste time squabbling with each other?"

"He has a point," Donatello added. "Please, just for tonight."

"Melody-chan means well, April-chan," Nia told the redhead. She smiled as well, although her arm trembled when Melody extended it, needle at the ready. "Sh—she's just scared, like everyone else."

"I can't afford to be scared."

"Doesn't mean you aren't…"

Melody snorted as the needle broke Nia's skin. After taping the IV in place and double-checking its integrity, she stepped back then frowned at the nauseous look that overcame the artist.

"Nia, you alright?" April questioned, placing a palm against her friend's forehead.

"Wait." Melody swatted away the redhead's hand. She earned a snarl, but remained focused on Nia's rigid body. "She's having a flashback."

April straightened. "A flashback? To what?"

Donny knew the answer, and once the questioned settled in April's brain, so did she. ' _Is it right to let her live it?_ ' The genius grimaced at Nia's wide eyes. ' _She might remember something helpful or just…_ '

"Do—does so much blood come from one person?" the pale human whispered. Slowly, her grip on the flat chair arms tightened, until the leather squeaked from the pressure of her fingernails. "Is that all…mine? Why are there so many people? Who…would want to see…so much blood? So much…red?"

"That's enough." Voice steely, April pushed Melody aside to grip both of Nia's shoulders and shake her. "Nia, honey, you aren't with Bishop anymore. October's over. You're here, with your family, who needs you. So please snap out of it."

Donatello frowned while watching Nia's fingers release the chair arms with a gasp. She blinked then cringed, a soft curse at her parted lips.

"I—I'm sorry," she said.

"Don't be," April countered. She ran a hand along the younger woman's face, but Melody stopped it, leading the redhead away. "What's wrong with you, Gray?" April snapped. She planted her sneakers on the sleek floor then reclaimed the hand Don was sure she wanted to swipe across the cyborg's face.

"Keeping her calm is pushing us further away from our goal," Melody noted in a dead tone.

"How so?"

"Name the times Nia's IgRs were activated."

"Uh…" April met the young woman's downcast face, jaw slack, so Mel continued,

"The phenomena is characterized not just by healing, but by a push in the energy surrounding Nia. The night she first met Michelangelo, the time she hurt Splinter during meditation, Halloween, her experience when retrieving that power cell for the Damn Mechanic—all of these have a single common factor. Fear."

"You want to _scare_ her?" April asked through gritted teeth.

"It is the closest to a guarantee we have. When Nia is frightened, she reverts to her basic instincts—such is any creature's nature."

"But to scare her?" The redhead's short hair swayed with her head. "That's cruel."

"Even so, she has never met a Languu before and thus has no means for an alternative."

"I—it's fine, April-chan," whispered Nia.

"No, it's not."

"Then it's bearable, for Splinter's sake." Eyes set on the unconscious rat opposite of the saline stand, Nia hardened her expression. "He's not ready. He can't die like this, not before…"

"Before what?"

Nia sent LH a quick smile then faced Melody. "Do whatever it takes."

"Ni—"

"My strength is in my spirit, April-chan. Splinter-san helped me see that."

Nia had made up her mind and there was no changing it. Her knit brows forced April to back down as she inhaled deeply, turning to Melody. The cyborg responded with a blank look then glanced down at her hands.

"Leatherhead got you a present," she said dryly. Don couldn't recall when LH had handed over the power cell to his wife, but he vaguely remembered the request.

Thankfully, the joke wasn't lost on Nia like it was on April. "Thanks, LH-kun," the artist noted. She sent the large mutant a nod then situated the cylindrical device between her legs, its blue glow tainting her comic-print tights.

"Feel the warmth," Melody noted as Nia placed her hands over the cell's top. "It influenced you before; let it do so aga—"

"Something wrong?" Donny asked, struck by Mel's confused look.

The half-blonde shook her head. "A weird feeling just hit me."

"What kind?"

"Tabitha cut herself off. Last I heard, she was on her way to help bus two-ninety."

"She must've gotten distracted by all the worry in your head," Don jested. The action was void, though, so he neared his wife to take her hand. "Sven had to block you too, right?"

"Yes. But if the channel is open, Tabitha never…she tends to cling."

Don flashed a smile, despite how Melody paled. "What are little siblings for? She may've even done it because she knows we need you here. The others have their mission, this is ours. So…work your magic."

Melody sent her husband a sidelong glance. "Magic?"

"You're the one who seems to know how to activate the IgRs."

"That is a simple matter of recreating her past experiences."

"Nothing about this is simple." April was right, although no one wanted to reiterate her point.

Melody disregarded her (which was probably for the best), pushing Donatello to the foot of Nia's chair. "Leatherhead, you are prepared to monitor Splinter's vitals should the machine malfunction?"

"Yes," LH answered.

"April, you have the defibrillator?"

"I do. But if the batteries—"

"They should be fine. Nia's concentration will be set on the power cell. And in case it expands, you also have the Diazepam."

"You know we hate having to treat you like this, don't you?" April asked Nia with glossy eyes.

The dark-haired human didn't reply, but she lifted her gentle gaze from the power cell.

"What about Don's tablet?" April added. "If that conks out, won't the app stop running?"

"If it does, I have a contingency plan," Donatello answered. "The app will reroute to a secondary system. While I won't have control anymore, it'll still function on the same settings. Unless someone resets the power here."

"So this is it." Nia chuckled awkwardly as Melody bent over. "We're gunna do this on purpose?"

"Yes, now"—the cyborg's hands drew up the artist's teal eyes by squeezing her shoulders—"return to the memory you were just lost in."

"Wh—what?"

"Bishop is your trigger, right? A place like this must bring back terrible memories."

"I—I thought I was supposed to be thinking about healing, not—" Nia swallowed—a loud, evident action that looked agonizing.

"Partly. However, if you remain balanced, your IgRs will never activate."

"I've gotten better at control, though. I—I don't think I even remember how—"

Mel tightened her grip on Nia, causing her to flinch. "You do. Your PTSD will not let you forget."

"PT—?" Nia shook her head and waved an arm. "I—I—I don't have PTSD. I mean, yeah, thinking about _him_ is nauseating. And I have night terrors about, uh, October almost every week. Needles make me wanna cry, and sometimes, I jump at, um, the color red. Or my blood. But that doesn't mean—Leo was much, much worse, so—wh…why is everyone staring?"

"It's not textbook, but—" April sent Donatello a pained look.

"Those are symptoms of PTSD," the genius finished, solemn. He admired Nia for the way she smiled, although he knew it was a mask, a pitiful mask.

"You were taken against your will," Melody added.

Nia's mask fell as she faced the cyborg again. "Actually, I gave myself up…for Raph."

"Did you _want_ to go with the EPF?"

"N—no."

"Then it was against your will. A madman took you to his lab. Experimented on you, used you. What makes you believe I would not know the stress that puts on a person?"

"I…" Nia sighed then glanced away. "I'm sorry. I know you had it worse than me."

"Stop."

"Stop what?"

Melody's metal body shook. The way she shifted across the floor left dents in her wake and spoke volumes of her frustration, which had likely been bottled up since before she entered Oswald Cybernetics. "Don't focus on pity," she hissed. "Splinter is decaying as we speak, and if you can't activate those antibodies he'll be _dead_ in days!"

Donny understood why April stepped forward when Nia gasped, but he gripped her arm anyway, bringing her back with a frown on his face. The redhead obviously found no pleasure in complying, yet she settled for strangling the defibrillator in her grip.

"Think about Bishop," Melody continued, just as tart. "About the plans he had for you."

"But I—"

With a growl, the cyborg cut off Nia. The pale human jumped in her leather seat then whimpered as Melody's metal fist met her diaphragm in a swift motion. Coughs instantly followed, the kind that almost earned a defibrillator chucked at Mel's head, before Don pinned April's arms at her sides.

"He made you feel weak, right?" asked Melody over Nia's labored breaths. "Like you'd be stuck on a table forever? Cold. Useless. Alone. Focus on the pain it haunts you with. Give into the memories about scalpels and spinning rooms and pretend they're in _that_ broken rib. Then, will the pain to end."

"End?"

The lab's lights flickered with the artist's croak. It should've been a good sign, except it knotted Donatello's stomach tighter each time the room fell dark. He tore his gaze from April to Melody, who panted, her hands curled. Was it because her stress over Splinter had finally overflowed? Or was Nia's Chi drawing energy from the cyborg instead of the power cell?

"Melody," Donny called.

The half-blonde stood tall. "Will the rib to heal, Nia. Think of the relief it would give if it no longer hurt."

"But I—it does hurt," Nia muttered back. Her arms were wrapped around her torso and she hunched over the power cell, trembling with her words. "It hurts. The samples, the blood, the screams, the fire—it all hurts. He smiles. Why does he smile?"

"Nia?"

Donatello shook his head at April, eyes burning as Nia went on,

"Disgusting thing. Why do you exist? Why would a human bear… _you_? Guess in a twisted way, I'm thankful. You aren't like the other one. I can _use_ you."

"Other one?" Don echoed. "Does Bishop have another hybrid?"

Whatever suggestion April may've had, it was lost under the sudden pops emanating from the lab's ceiling lights. They overloaded one by one, starting from Nia outwards in a ripple marked by bright lights and sparks. Tension through the air grew thick the moment the last light burned out by the main entrance, and when Donatello moved his head, it felt as if he were twisting it underwater.

Despite the hindrance, the Bō master reached for his wife. His three fingers captured her wrist, tugging her away from a faint glow that started flickering in Nia's chair. She complied without complaint—possibly due to the foreboding pins and needles sensation that stiffened even Don's joints.

"N—Nia?" April's question carried through the darkness in a frightened whisper.

It ended in a pulse of Paresthesia, pushing Donny back with an invisible hand. The light from before then ignited in a burst of spider-web designs. They glowed in a faint blue that worked their way around slender forms. Don could tell with each new line what they were: surface veins. Nia's surface veins to be exact.

She was muttering, her head limp. But the mutant could distinguish her arms and neck and assumed her tights kept her legs from glowing as well. He'd never seen such a thing before, and while it was an interesting sight, instincts warned him against remaining close.

Once the glow expanded passed Nia's veins to her hair, lightening it with beads of white, the room grew hot. It winded Donatello in seconds, prompting him to drag Melody further away.

"Y—you can't stay," he said while eyeing Nia.

"The IgRs are activating," Melody countered, heaving. "Now's the time."

"Mel, you can feel it. Her body's winding up for something big, and you _can't_ be here when it discharges!"

The cyborg was already at the saline stand by the time Don realized she had left, and her metal glistened with a blue hue as she began the transfusion. "Before that moment is the exact time Splinter needs her blood. Look."

Don grimaced as blood rose through the intravenous line from Nia's arm. Light specs dotted the red stream like little gems inside the plastic tube, but the IgRs were a bitter sight. He didn't trust them, and the increasing heat and pulsating pushes of pure Chi were a good reason not to.

"Mel," he started.

The cyborg ignored him while the IgRs grew more numerous in the thin tubes. With trembling lips, Don watched them flow from the blood bag down the line that led into Splinter's arm. They entered his veins with the same glow they held inside Nia and so lit his dark body in a similar matter.

But something was wrong. The rat writhed with discomfort against his chair. Subtle at first; then his breathing grew labored. The IgRs brightened with every gasp he made, and his blood pressure spiked in a series of horrible sounds that left Don nauseous from realization and dread.

"April, ready the Diazepam— _now_!"

The warning came too late; a Chi wave unlike any before erupted. Donatello felt it inside his bones like a fever, and he was tossed backwards into a desk when Nia and Melody screamed.


	44. Backlash

**A/N:** Less than ten chapters to go, Dudes and Dudettes. :)

 _Sciencegal_ \- Think that's pretty and intense? Wait until you meet a full blood Languu... ;)

 _WOLF_ \- But if they're covered, you won't see the rest of the mayhem! :D

* * *

 **Chapter 42:** **Backlash**

Man, did Michelangelo's side ache. It felt like the Bear-Hound thing that had attacked him days ago still had a hold of its victim, and sometimes the pain blurred his vision. Even so, he refused to leave Nightwatcher's side, no matter how many times Hun sent the duo rolling across the hidden EPF parking lot.

"I told ya ta take cover, Doofus," Nightwatcher growled from behind his tinted helmet.

Mikey pulled his cape out from between his legs, glancing up at the black-clad mutant who cast a shadow over him. "Bu—but more guards could come at any second."

"We've already lost track 'a Sven 'n Switchblade. At this rate we'll need ta—"

"Fall back?" Such a deep scoff could only belong to Hun, and it drew Mikey's attention forward. The gangster snarled beyond three unconscious bodies, a smart car's door dented around his fist. "That would be your wisest choice. I don't have time for costumed fools."

"Why? Got a hot date?"

Mikey's jest went unappreciated; without so much as a smirk, Hun punched the door with such strength that it became a missile. The hero was tackled by Nightwatcher out of harm's way, and he heard a curse and a crack when the door nicked his older brother's shoulder.

"For your sakes, you should let me pass."

"Maybe he's right." Mikey chuckled as his brother rolled away. "We could use him like a trap magnet."

"Trap…?" Glaring, Hun set his gaze on someone rousing from the asphalt. With thumping steps, he approached the figure, snatched him up by his EPF uniform, and read the name embroidered across his bullet-proof vest. "Agent Patterson. I heard this is where Bishop keeps his prisoners. There are two, maybe three, in particular I want back. And I need your…help."

"Fat chance," Patterson countered.

A chuckle bubbled within the agent's chest, but Hun quelled it by turning Patterson lengthwise, holding him over his head like some UWS competitor. "One chance before I break your spine."

The man strained in Hun's hold. "Be my guest. Better broke than to end up like Mahoney or that sick Hispanic."

"Rojo?"

Patterson grunted, lips sealed.

"What has Bishop done to my soldiers?" Hun snarled. His large hands bent Patterson further until the smaller man writhed. Still, he stayed so quiet the blonde's eye began twitching. "Are they under biometric lockdown? Should I bring your corpse, just in case?"

' _This guy's really pushing it,_ ' Mikey thought, mouth dry. ' _Would he really rather die than help?_ '

"I—I don't have that clearance," Patterson replied with a snide laugh. "Bishop won't let me in to Reese's cell here, let alone the ones on The Island."

"What island?"

"Uh—"

"Answer!"

"Raph, shouldn't we do something?" Mikey hit his brother's arm, but Nightwatcher remained kneeled, gripping his hurt shoulder.

"They bring up a good point. Possible traps aside, we can't get anywhere near Hugh wit'out Sven."

"He's the closest to a hacker we've got while Don's busy. Still—"

"Uh, Hun? Sir? We have a problem."

Hun looked in no mood for bad news and scowled at the female voice that spoke through light static. "What is it, Spike?" he asked towards his shoulder.

Was a mike hidden there? And why was it on speaker by default? Mikey shook these questions from his head then focused on Spike's reply.

"It's Pierce."

"What about him?" Rolling his eyes, the mammoth lowered Patterson so the soldier's tailbone rested atop the blonde's head.

"I—I'm sorry, Sir. I just saw the report on my phone. News Six even had helicopter footage by the end."

" _And_?"

"He hijacked a bus full of kids that were on a field trip."

She didn't mean Kaiya's bus, right? That had to be a coincidence, some other field trip. Right? Michelangelo wanted to believe so, and thus suspended the belief, his lungs frozen as Spike continued,

"It went south. The bus sped up Unfinished Bridge then rolled. It—it fell off the edge, Sir, onto the bypass."

Yup, definitely not Kaiya's bus. Spike never even mentioned—

"There was another cyborg, one who could fly. She kept it from falling for a while, but after the EPF showed up, Pierce was trapped. He tried fighting his way out and—"

"How could he have _failed_?" Hun snapped.

"They had Hunt, Sir." Spike sounded almost too scared to answer. "H—he's switched sides. Used an EMP, killed Pierce."

"So Bishop finally got his field test," Patterson added. It was enough to earn him a fist in the face when the PD leader lowered him.

"Where's Pierce's body?" Hun asked over Patterson's gasp for air.

"EPF took it. And the backlash is bad. Your cyborgs are falling, Sir, and members at HQ are…shaken by that."

"You tell those bastards to hold their ground."

"We're overrun! There're too many Forty-Fours and the police—"

"Just do it, Spike! Reinforcements will be on their way."

"What about—"

"That's not your concern. Your only job is to make sure no one gets to Doctor Jensen, so do it. Now"—lifting Patterson by the hair, Hun stared down his captive like a mad lion—"tell me, would Bishop take Pierce to where he's holding Little Spice?"

"That psycho should stay in cryo," Patterson spat.

Apparently, the last straw had been drawn for Hun. The blonde roared then chucked Patterson across the parking lot into a Subaru's windshield. Patterson's head rammed through it with a dull thud and as his body fell limp against the car hood, a new whimper sounded.

Hun twisted to find a second soldier, this one far more jittery than the last. The curly-haired man sniffled when the gangster lifted him off the asphalt and flinched before he met the man's beady eyes.

"Will you be more forthcoming, Agent…Murphy?"

"We—we-we're just grunts, man," Murphy replied in a squeaky voice. "Errand boys."

"But you have ears, right? You should know things, like the location of this supposed island?"

The soldier scrunched his bulbous nose. "M—m—maybe?"

"Yes"—Hun touched his forehead against Murphy's—"or no?"

It took all of a second for the soldier to give in. "I—it's a place concealed below Lower Bay, near Jersey. Bishop's takes special guests there, like that hybrid chick from last year and, yes, yo—your cyborgs. As well as some scientists he saved from Black Lotus."

Slowly, Hun formed a devious smiled. "Really?"

"Yeah! They've been Bishop's favorites for a while, and the Trackers they grew have come in handy. I mean, just earlier they returned with the girl who's been a thorn in our side since Italy. That made the boss' day."

"What girl?" Michelangelo wasn't aware his voice could lower so far, but it left him in a dark snarl.

Murphy glanced away from Hun's grasp then froze—perhaps stricken by the sneer the mutant had no control over. "The, uh, heroine. I think the Black Lotus guys wanna use her for experimentation, her and that traitor Rizzo."

"He ain't talkin' about…"

"Sophia," Mikey finished.

"Mike—"

"No"—Michelangelo met his brother's helmet with a frown—"I _can't_."

Nightwatcher groaned. He understood the dread sinking into his younger brother's gut, though. It'd been the same kind that wanted to keep the hothead at Oswald, so he stayed quiet until Hun chuckled.

"Lead the way, little man," the gangster told Murphy.

The EPF soldier gulped, wordless, as Hun tucked him under his arm like a football. Hun then spun and sent his opponents a dismissive glare before barreling towards the dilapidated chain link gate.

Mikey instantly rose to follow him, yet was stopped by a harsh grip on his hand. "Let go!"

"Ya're injured, Idiot," Nightwatcher countered. "Let's get Hugh first then—"

"There's no time! Hugh's capture was public. Bishop needs to play it safe with him. But Sophia? She's someone who's been on his bad list way longer than Hugh. And if scientists from _Black Lotus_ want her?"

Mikey shook his head, his throat tight. "Hun has a direct lead. Right now. If I don't follow them, it could take days to pinpoint The Island."

"Who's ta say he'll even get in?"

"That's the beauty of it. Whatever Hun does, it'll cover my tracks."

"Ya'll be alone."

"Raph, Sophia _needs_ me. I…I"—Michelangelo's voice fell to a whisper—"I can't let Bishop take her away like Christina…"

The deceased woman's name always softened Raphael, and in his new relaxed state, his grip loosed from Mikey's shoulder. It was a relief that gave the younger mutant strength to step back. He studied Raph's tinted visor then flashed a weak grin through the morning's early rays.

Even their resident hothead knew it; to get through the day, each brother needed to be a leader. They weren't under Leonardo's guidance, but they were still heroes. And knowing that left Michelangelo confident enough to head for the gate.

'S _orry, Hugh; I have to do this. Raph and Sven are coming for ya. Hold on until then..._ '

* * *

He was going to be a father. Him—Hugh Reese—was going to have a son.

Never before had the detective needed to process something so mindboggling. Hell, even the Hamatos existence had been easier to accept. Least they weren't someone he needed to raise until adulthood. Someone who would look towards him for emotional and moral support. Someone whose life would rest entirely in his hands.

Or already rested in them, thanks to Bishop.

' _Almost seventeen weeks. Rina's already in her second trimester and I didn't even…_ '

Notice.

Granted Marina wasn't the slimmest woman alive, Hugh should've known better than to assume her weight gain over the year was from stress. Had he really attributed it to that and let it slide? How much bigger of a douche bag could he be?

' _I've been clueless, absolutely clueless. But I bet Jen knows…maybe even Blaine._ '

Hugh's heart ached when he thought about his wife turning to their friends instead of him. He knew why she would, though. Jen was the mother of two kids, while the detective panicked at the idea of having his own.

' _It's one thing to be an uncle; it's another to be solely responsible for a life. I—I—I don't know one thing about being a good dad. It's not like mine stuck with Mom before she died. We had Ebon, sure. But his ornery ass wouldn't let us forget we weren't his._

' _Even Taylor hates me. Like Mia did. And like Rina does. I just…can't keep family. My son will probably grow up to hate me too..._ '

That thought above all scared Hugh beyond reason.

"Johnny, you idiot!"

Hugh flinched at a garbled voice from afar, and, ignoring his headache and the lingering bile scent on his shirt, opened his good eye to squint through the lights surrounding him. Was it the pain, or did the white cell glow with their ferocity? It seemed unusual.

"If you tell that steroid-loving brute anything, do you know what Bishop will do? I can't always cover your—" The agent speaking cut himself short, wide-set eyes zoned in on Hugh's prison chair. "Shut up, John. Keep this line secret. My charge just woke up."

"Evens, right?" Hugh asked through chapped, puffy lips. "Haven't seen you since…since I got here."

"There's been no need," Evens replied, stepping forward.

The detective watched the soldier as he shouldered a slender plasma rifle—the standard load for any EPF goon ready for war. "Now there is? Why's that?"

"We're moving you."

"A new torture chamber won't change anything; I'm not betraying anyone."

Evens scoffed while rummaging through his uniform's many pockets. "Told Bishop he should'a tried the Truth Serum on you."

"So there _is_ such a thing."

"Side effects include degenerated cartilage that snaps your bones and liver failure, but sort've. Sometimes we get an answer before our hostages kick the bucket."

Hugh stared blankly at the agent, wanting to gulp yet unable to since his mouth was so dry. "That sounds like a horrible death."

"Nearly instantaneous, too. It's a gamble, so Bishop keeps it on the back burner. Besides, he prefers his more elaborate methods."

"Sociopath," Hugh muttered. He clicked his tongue then hissed when it stung. "So what about that call you were just on? Sounds like someone's in trouble."

"Mention anything about it, and you'll be." Evens' threat sounded surprisingly genuine, which left the detective with a pit in his gut.

"You mean I'm not already?"

"Bishop wants you alive until he gets answers. Still, I can't be blamed if you take a plasma blast to the head. It's a mess outside."

"And this mess warrants my move?"

"There the damn thing is," Evens grumbled.

He disregarded Hugh and stopped the search through his pockets after finding a strange looking key. Its cube-like end was custom, for sure, and looked like it would fit the slots alongside the shackles that encased Hugh's limbs. Then again, it also looked like it would fit the sleek handcuffs Evens produced from behind him.

"Where'd you get those, Sci-Fi Discount Dot Com?" Hugh asked with a smirk.

"Think they're a prop?" Evens countered. They were a single piece, like handcuffs from the Old West; however, they had a thicker build. The bands were about two inches wide without any break and the foam lining them looked suspiciously comfortable. "Wondering how they adjust?"

The agent pushed his hand through one cuff, which then inflated until the foam encircled his wrist. He didn't leave it long before using the key on its center piece and blew a little sigh as he straightened.

"You can't slip out of them either," he added.

Hugh's smirk grew. "Seems like it would be easy."

"As easy as leaving this cell."

"Through that cracked door?"

"Try it, Smartass; I dare you."

Hugh didn't respond when Evens flashed his own smirk. Maybe the agent thought it intimidated him, so he let the matter slide while Evans began unlocking his first shackle with the same key. ' _Best he doesn't suspect anything. I have to wait for the perfect chance before I can—oh, shit!_ '

Hissing, Hugh fought for his hand back to no avail. Sharp pins broke his skin where the foam made contact with his sprained wrist, and he cursed again when he realized Evens would be re-shackling his limbs one at a time. ' _I hate smartly trained goons_. _Guess I gotta do this the hard way._ '

"Hey, what's that?" Hugh craned his neck to glance behind Evens, towards the door. A classic trick, but his wide eye only earned him a flat look from Evens.

"Seriously?"

Hugh countered with a grin. Then, he put his cuff to good use.

Using it like a club, he swiped it across Evens stretched face and snatched the key from his loose grasp. This he dropped down his prison shirt for safe keeping before taking a blow to the nose. Thankfully, Bishop's torture left Hugh mostly numb, so the detective could retaliate with a head-butt.

It met its mark square on, disorienting Evens while Hugh pulled the plasma rifle's strap.

"Stop; you'll get us both killed!" Evens snarled.

Hugh grunted in return and struggled to pull the strap sideways with his free hand. Despite Evans' resistance against his neck and grip, the rifle started to shift. In a swift instant, it slipped off the agent's shoulder then discharged when he fumbled to catch it.

Hugh heard a short, high-pitched beep first. Then the burning in his hip started.

"Serves you right," noted Evens, smiling through the blood dripping from his large nostrils.

Whatever. Straight-faced, Hugh scoffed and lifted his arm again—this time to punch Evens right in the throat. As the agent reeled, Hugh's fingers found the rifle's barrel to hit it upwards. It discharged twice—scarring the ceiling and damaging a light—then again when Hugh stole it from Evens completely.

"There's a war outside, Reese." Evens heaved, hand gripping his red-soaked shoulder. His jaw quivered from pain, but that didn't stop Hugh from aiming the riffle at the agent's wound.

"Then I'll fight through it," Hugh said, low. "Bishop's threatened everything I love. I can't protect them from here."

"Y—you'll be a fugitive. Hunted. Hated."

"So be it."

"And Bishop will be at the lead. He has issues when it comes to"—Evens flinched—"letting things go."

"I'll do whatever it takes to get my family back. So long as I'm with them," Hugh paused to lick his puffed lip, souring at its metallic taste, "that's all that matters."

Another high-pitched beep sounded. The plasma rifle's slight backlash dug into Hugh's shoulder, but otherwise remained steady as the shocked Evens dropped to his knees. Lowering the barrel, Hugh waited until Evens fell forward before digging into his shirt for the key.

' _A cauterized shot like that won't kill him. I hope._ '

The last thing he needed on his long list of supposed offences was murder. Self defense had no chance of covering his ass since cameras were located in every corner of the cell. He could only pray he'd find some means to contact Donatello so they could erase those feeds like the ones at the Manhattan's Property Office.

' _For now, I just need to get out of this damn chair._ '

Releasing the metal restraints took little time; they clicked open with a single turn from the cube key and released their captive onto his wobbly legs. Hugh sought support from the chair's arm and placed a hand against the burn on his hip. He noted the hole in his shirt, its orange edges blackened, although the shot had only skimmed his skin.

' _Thank God. Now, to find a phone._ '

So, forgetting the sting, Hugh looked towards the cracked circular door that led to freedom then stepped forward. His heartbeat left him lightheaded as he neared the light. However, its quickening pace was more than a tell of his apprehension.

It was an omen followed by a tingle then a paralyzing shock like a Taser. The hot electricity filled Hugh's muscles with convulsions, which forced his body onto the cell floor. There he lay powerless against his shakes as the barbs in his cuff's foam sunk deeper into his wrist.


	45. Kink

**A/N:** Alright. I'm ready for this baby to be out of my hair. I'll be wrapping it up by Christmas. :)

 _Sciencegirl_ , when you say Hunny-Bear, I think of Mulan and "Let's go kick some Hunny Buns!" XD

* * *

 **Chapter 43:** **Kinks**

An unseen hand kept Donatello on Oswald lab's floor, and he could do little to shield Melody from it. Chi wasn't something that could be blocked physically. Only Nia could quell it. But considering how the artist rumbled into her tucked knees—her IgRs lighting up the intravenous lines like shooting stars—he doubted she had the mindset to calm herself.

' _I—it's almost impossible to breathe and so hot_ ,' Don thought while tucking his wife's head further under his arm. He hissed when a stray scalpel from a desk overhead nicked him and he fought another lightheaded wave when his dry eyes settled on the fried cardiograph that had once monitored Splinter's heart. ' _It skyrocketed. Now he's still. This isn't good._ '

"L—let go, Damn Mechanic. We—we—we need to"—Melody gasped, her form tense below her husband—"to restart his—his…heart."

"Get any closer, we won't be able to do the same with you," Donny countered with a frown.

"The backup you installed—"

"Isn't long-term. And as soon as Splinter and Nia are stable, you're next."

"Don—"

The genius pulled his wife back when she outstretched a hand towards the whirlwind ahead. "You did your part, Mel. Now let us do ours."

Melody lacked the strength to back up her protest, and the couple knew it. So, lifting his gaze, Donatello sought his friends. April lay beside an overturned swivel chair, unconscious from the first attempt to administer the Diazepam. The red-orange hair whipping across her face nearly shielded its pale skin, but Don noted a thick blood trail coating her nose from where Leatherhead's tail had knocked her over.

Great. Now, where was said croc? Don found the massive mutant braving Nia's push with clenched fists, a snarl at his snout, and white eyes.

"This isn't a war zone, LH!" the genius cried. He licked his salty lips when the Leatherhead growled, and—despite the severe Paresthesia and heat that stiffened his joints—lifted his upper torso off the ground. "We're helping Sensei, remember? Th—this isn't Bishop's lab. This isn't a test!"

LH would disagree. Much like Nia would right now. But words were all Donny had left, so he filled them with desperation.

"The Diazepam is in April's hand. Y—you have to get it to Nia."

Leatherhead's tale whipped in response, vaulting the fallen chair by April into a wall. Lowly, he snarled then bared his teeth at the human huddled around the dead power cell.

"Leatherhead, please!" Don's voice cracked as he failed to stand. "That's my _family_! Y—you're the only one strong enough to stand. So please, _please_ get the fucking Diazepam!"

A curse—that's what reawakened life in Leatherhead's eyes. In a blink, black irises replaced the white, their pupils searching the room for whoever had jolted his conscience. They landed, wide, on the Bō master, except his shot tolerance level tossed out all niceties.

"Diazepam, now!"

Leatherhead turned to where his friend pointed at his feet. He stared at April then bent to retrieve the syringe in her snug grasp. Finally, the croc mutant moved forward with the right mindset, and Donatello watched him approach Nia's saline intravenous line to add the drugs.

Time felt slow as the IgRs decreased. One by one, their lights extinguished—from Splinter's relaxed form, through the plastic tubes, to Nia. The artist gaped for air at their deaths, her head lolling against the chair's headrest. It looked painful when she convulsed, and Donatello's chest ached to see tears streaming down her glowing face.

By the time he could sit, the IgRs only lingered in the blood vessels of Nia's upturned eyes. They gathered into her left one before their light expanded like a super nova star. Rather than explode, though, they faded gently until her eyelids closed.

"Leatherhead," Don started.

However, the croc mutant was already checking the human's pulse, his thick brow creased. "Her heart rate's steadying."

"And S—Sensei?" The genius choked on his question, ready to hurl should their whole plan have been for naught. He helped Melody stand while LH surveyed the mutant rat and directed her to April's side despite her silent protests.

"D—Donatello," Leatherhead said over the cyborg's murmur.

Such a bleak tone almost prevented Don from turning; he couldn't handle another kink in their path. But he did anyway—out of pure dreadful curiosity, and what greeted him left his jaw slack.

* * *

"You sure this is alright, Blaine? We're not even five blocks from the bridge."

Blaine's vision glossed over a neon turtle sign twirling atop a slender building then tightened his grip on the sniffling blonde in his arms. Without a look over his shoulder to see if Damien followed him through the narrow back alley, he said, "This is the location Raphael gave me."

"But weren't you taking Kaiya _away_ from the police?" the ex-gangster added, his voice faint. "The bus hit Oswald not long ago. Won't they—"

Blaine whirled—a sudden, intimidating action that placed him face-to-face with Damien. "Either way, Donatello and the others need to exit that lab. Undetected. We'll make sure they do, and they'll take Kai with her."

"Is that better than her meeting her mom?"

"With the EPF about? Yes."

"Wh—what about the other kid you were trying to take with us?"

"Jakob?" The boy's name hitched in Blaine's throat, choking him with terrified imagines of his wide, blue eyes. "H—he'll have to wait for his father."

"What about his brother?"

"A parent should pick him up. Besides I…I need Sven focused on getting Hugh out first, especially since Michelangelo bailed."

Was that unjust? Sven was the only one capable of bypassing EPF security. Unless Donatello decided to join their group. ' _That's even if he's done—_ '

"Blaine?"

Speak of the devil. Turning, Blaine met a pair of bloodshot eyes. They were surprisingly close, like the mutant turtle had caught himself just before he could render Blaine unconscious.

"Was that Blaine, Don?" A redhead peered from behind the recoiling mutant, who shook his head.

"April," Blaine addressed, "your face."

"Oh, this?" April gave a weak chuckle, wiping some coagulated blood off her red nose. "I—it's nothing. Least, not compared to what these guys went through."

She glanced behind her, so Blaine followed suit. He noticed Melody supporting herself against a chain link gate, but she paled in comparison to a new beast. Overshadowing him was the largest figure he'd seen in his entire life, next to Hunter Mason. Its broad shoulders carried two bodies and its crocodilian snout quirked into a smile. Or was it smirk?

"Hello, Officer Blaine. I am Leatherhead. I have heard a bit about you from my friends."

"You…you're…" The blonde wanted to say 'impossible'.

But what difference was a crocodile from a turtle? Or a child who could heal in seconds? ' _I blame Hugh for all this._ '

"So—so—so"—Damien paused—"you're friends with an alligator."

"Crocodile," Leatherhead corrected, his sharp teeth showing.

"Oh. Cool?"

"What's going on, Blaine?" April interjected. "I didn't know you were meeting us, let alone with, uh, _him_."

"No hard feelings, right?" Damien asked with a shrug.

The redhead glared.

"I made the call that freed you."

"Tell that to the scar over my thigh!"

"Hey, I got there _after_ the EPF!"

"Argue later, idiots," Melody snapped. She sounded winded and the way she stumbled away from the fence gave the impression of a drunkard. "Nia and Splinter need rest."

"So it worked?" Blaine studied the two figures Leatherhead shouldered, although they looked eerily still. "Are they—"

"They're fine," the cyborg cut off. "Nia's steady, healed. And Splinter's heart restarted."

"You mean it _stopped_?"

Donatello countered Blaine's wide stare with a shallow smile while he neared Melody. "We'll explain later. Just know everyone's okay."

"So you're free then."

"Well, I was gunna call Raph from April's apartment to see how he and Mike are doing."

"Don't bother."

"Why?"

"Michelangelo's gone."

"What? What did he—? Where's your phone?"

"Hold on!" Blaine pushed Donatello away when he reached inside his pockets, which proved difficult given the ninja's unusual strength. "I have a favor to ask first."

"Favor?"

The blonde nodded. "Wherever you're taking Nia and Splinter, I—I want you to take Kaiya as well."

Gesturing with his chin, Blaine lifted the child in his arms. She looked haggard from matted blonde hair to scuffed sneakers; however not one scratch remained from the bus attack. All those scars were emotional, and would haunt even Blaine for months to come.

"I—is she okay?" Donatello asked.

"Depends on what constitutes okay."

"She wasn't found out, was she?"

The father appreciated the concern Donatello showed, but such didn't ease the distress that knotted his stomach when he noted Melody's frown. "I don't think so."

"Then why does she look like she has been through a shredder?"

"Mel!"

"It's fine, Don." Blaine sucked in a deep breath, using Kaiya's warmth as an anchor for his troubled mind. "Kaiya's bus was hijacked. She—she tried stopping it and it rolled up Unfinished Bridge."

"What about the kids?" Donatello swallowed and gripped Melody's shoulder when she stepped forward.

"Jakob?"

"Kids are fine. I tried to take Jakob with us, but he had to wait for his father with the others."

"Who would hijack a school bus?" April questioned with a scrunched face.

"Pierce," Damien answered, solemn.

"Despicable dragons…"

"They're turning New York into one hell of a war zone," Blaine added as the ex-PD slumped backwards. "Even the police are stumped, and it's forcing the EPF to bring out their big guns."

April scoffed. "We've already seen monsters and increasing response teams. What else could they have up their sleeve?"

"A cyborg."

"Where would Bishop get a—?" Donatello paused. "Don't tell me."

Blaine lowered his gaze towards Kaiya's sleeping form. "The orange-haired one showed up like an attack dog."

"Hunt," Damien confirmed.

"He fought Pierce, killed him while Tabitha and I were…s—saving the kids."

"Maybe that's why Tabitha went silent," noted Donatello. He flashed Melody a faint grin. "She was too busy being a hero to let you in her head."

"What's that mean?" Blaine asked.

"She, Sven, and Tabitha share a brain frequency—for lack of better words. It's a feature, uh, Stephens installed."

"And it keeps us connected, unless one blocks the signal."

The officer eyed the cyborg's disgruntled expression, as if she were confused by her own thoughts. "So you have cyborg telekinesis?"

Melody sent him a pointed stare. "Technically, that would be telepathy. Essentially, it's a phone in our heads. Even if it isn't always used, it doesn't make sense why she wouldn't answer or…be here."

"Yeah." April glanced around. "Why is it just you three? Did Tabitha go help Raph and Sven already?"

If he could opt out of answering the redhead's question, Blaine would've. Many curious eyes pressed him for answers, though, and his stomach sank as he backpedaled.

"Blaine?

"Can you just take Kai with the others and let me leave with Donatello? Hu—Hugh doesn't have much time."

"Why are you avoiding the question?" Steps stern, Melody approached, square jaw raised. "Where is Tabitha? Why can I not hear her? _Why_ isn't she answering?"

"I…" Blaine stepped back again when his mind reeled with the scent of Tabitha's sweat, fumes, and blood.

"What do you know?"

Again, the blonde back-stepped—this time from a harsh jab in his shoulder.

"She's either going to learn it from you or the news," Damien said from behind

But Blaine would rather she not find out at all. This was the woman who had kidnapped homeless folks for Black Lotus experiments over a broken heart. Who's to say what she would do over the death of a friend? What additional kinks she would add to the current war?

"Find out what?" Melody surely would've reached for the officer's shirt if it hadn't been for Kaiya, so she instead settled for a snarl.

"The bus rolled off the bridge, and she was the only thing that kept it from crashing on the overpass with the kids inside."

"You said the kids were fine."

Blaine sighed under Donatello's stare, shaking. "Because of _her_ they are."

"I—I—I don't like the turn this story is taking," noted April. She gripped onto Leather's forearm and shared an unsure look with the beast.

"Tabitha held the bus' end. She flew me up there to evacuate the kids and held the whole thing by herself. Jakob was the last one, and that's when Hunt…"

"There was a tractor beam or some shit," Damien added. "It lifted everything metal, e—e—even some of the wreckage on the overpass. I—I—I didn't see what happened up top, but it wasn't long before… _everything_ came crashing down."

"Tabitha was cornered," Blaine continued.

He remembered when she no longer struggled with her load; when she laid her head against the ceiling, thin arms still wrapped around the bus's back bumper. Despite it all, she looked at peace. And her last, lopsided smile burned the man's eyes.

"Hunt used an EMP and"—Blaine swallowed thickly—"she was too close."

"No," Melody whispered. Her eye was wide, like the air had been sucked from her lungs. It seemed understandable; given how she gaped and shoved away the hand her husband placed on her shoulder. "No, no, no. Tabi's just being stubborn. She'll answer."

"I—I'm sorry, Melody. She…she can't."

"You're _lying_!"

At the cyborg's broken cry, Blaine steeled. "Even if she could've survived Hunt's EMP, she wouldn't have survived that fall. She's _gone_."

Melody's narrowed eye spoke volumes of her disbelief, but as the seconds ticked, she slunk further way, until her back met the chain-link gate. Had she asked Sven for confirmation? Or was she capable of checking the Web with a single thought.

Wait; that was Sven's gift. Right?

"Sven?" she croaked.

So, she had asked him. And his answer reflected in the half-blonde's mortified cry.

"Mel," Donatello started softly.

Melody ran her hands through her ear-length hair, tugging it as her teeth ground.

"I'm sorry; If I could've stopped Hunt, I would've," Blaine noted when she released a shuddering breath.

"Hunt."

A single whisper spoken with such clear derisiveness. It brought Donatello's fingers to the cyborg's check, which she swatted them away with a dangerous glint in her eye. Her face hardened, her large lips pulled down so far they looked ready to slide off her face.

"Melody, don't."

Donatello's words no longer held weight with his wife. She pushed him into the gate then took off with a speed that would outmatch Kaiya. It blew a brief wind over Blaine's face, and he heard a distinctive thump on the roof beside him before the genius cursed.

"I—is she really going to find Hunt?"

"And she's likely got Sven on her side too," Donatello added, rubbing his chest.

"What about Hugh?"

"Blaine," Don frowned, "you said they had an EMP. Mel can't—"

"I will follow her." Leatherhead's rumbling voice caused Blaine to jump; it was still unfamiliar and he had been quiet for so long, the blonde had forgotten how far up he needed to look to find the creature's face.

"LH—"

"Melody is a juggernaut. What better way to stop a juggernaut than with another juggernaut?"

"She needs to calm down, not fight!"

"I understand her rage, Donatello. So let me try."

"If anything, it'll buy time for Hugh," April interjected. "You know if we don't get him out now, he—"

"I get it," Donatello snapped. He glared at April a moment then dropped his hostility with a brusque sigh. "LH."

"I cannot guarantee neither of us will be injured. However, I will bring her back."

It took a lot of willpower for Donatello to nod; that much was certain. He accepted Nia and Splinter into his arms when the crocodile mutant offered them, then stepped aside to give Leatherhead room for a charge. Blaine turned his head away at the second gust of air, surprised by the beast's speed and agility as he followed Melody's war path.

' _Mutants, cyborgs, aliens, and super-humans. Just a year ago, I was telling Kaiya none of this was real…I don't know if I'm cut out for such stress._ '

"Blaine."

Said officer glanced up with a start, meeting Donatello's stern expression.

"We'll take these guys to April's. Then, we head for Hugh."

* * *

The twitches were uncontrollable, but Hugh had neither patience nor will to care how silly they made him look. He sat, slumped, against the prison chair that once held him—unable to catch his breath through the lingering pain in his body. He gripped the arm whose wrist bleed from the harsh cuff squeezing it and paled to think of how far the barbs had sunk into the spastic muscles below it.

' _Dammit,_ ' he thought with a tremble. ' _Every time I near the door, I get shocked to hell…And here I thought my biggest issue would be finding an exit._ '

Then again, this was an EPF cell; Hugh should've expected Bishop would have secondary safety protocols. ' _This thing would rather take my hand than let go. Guess now I know what Evens had meant. Too bad for him, I have the key. I just gotta stop…shaking._ '

Positive thinking did little good. No matter how much he wished it, Hugh's unsteady hand was slow to cooperate. It didn't support him when he rolled and refused to lift the key off the floor, although it lay beside his thigh. He needed both hands to gather it; however, the budding smirk across his lips turned into frown as he glanced at the lock on his cuffs.

The key hole was corroded into a bubbled mess of metal. It had no chance of fitting a key any more. That didn't stop Hugh from trying. He jammed it, scraped it, cursed it—all to no avail. It was stuck, and would remain so until an EPF technician came around.

 _Shit!_ '

Teeth clenched, he chucked the key at Evens' head. The agent didn't stir, which Hugh never expected him to. The throw was pitiful because of his weakened state and Evens…well, he hadn't moved an inch since falling.

' _Perfect_ ,' the detective thought. As he lowered his cuffed hand towards his side, he realized the lock's melted line fit the angle of his wound. ' _So the graze shot is the one that melted it?_ '

Hugh scoffed—an action interrupted by his chattering teeth. That would be his luck. Freed from the chair and still confined to the cell thanks to the EPF's damn handcuffs.

' _Evens mentioned a war outside. If I'm caught here, one way or another…I'm dead_.'

Which meant his time had to be now. But dare he try the door again? Even if he could reach it, he doubted he'd make it much farther. The shock his cuff emitted stole all control from his body. Rolling away had been a tremendous task that weighed him down.

' _Knowing Bishop, the range for this thing is miles. Wouldn't put it past him…_ '

That settled matters; the cuff needed to come off. And Hugh knew of only one way it would happen.

Breathing heavily through his nose, he lifted himself from the floor until he faced the restraint chair behind him. Evens' plasma rifle rested in it, a stark contrast of gray in the otherwise white room. Hugh didn't reach for it just yet. Instead, he ripped a thick line of fabric from his soiled prison shirt. This he rolled then, after a dry swallow, placed it in his mouth.

It tasted awful—like cat piss mixed with smelly feet. However, the stench turned his stomach less than the act of gripping the rifle. His stomach was high in his chest by the time he placed its butt against his shoulder, and it continued to rise as the neon decal work glowed with the promise of a charge.

' _Thank God I'm right handed,_ ' he jested, burning eye set on the barrel aimed at his left wrist. He thought jokes might keep him from folding, although an increasing heat from the metal against his skin tempted him to withdraw.

' _No_.' The man shook his head. ' _Stop it, Hugh. You've faced worse kinks before. Besides, this is the only way you can be there for them…_ '

For Marina and his son, Hugh would do this—he'd break the cuff and escape. So he drew in a deep breath then pulled the trigger.

* * *

 **A/N:** Mel's gearing up for a rampage. And if you didn't notice, Hugh's getting a little desperate...


	46. War Zone (Part 1)

**A/N:** Ride isn't over yet... LOL, _Sciencegal_. _WOLF_ , a man's gotta do what a man's gotta do. Too bad he doesn't know the others are coming for him.

XP

* * *

 **Chapter 44:** **War Zone (Part 1)**

So, Michelangelo left. Sven went MIA. And Hugh was still stuck inside the Earth Protection Force's public headquarters.

As of yet, this rescue mission had been a bust.

' _I can't leave, though,_ ' Raphael thought, cleaning the visor of his Nightwatcher helmet. Despite his good wipe, blood from a downed Purple Dragon remained and instead smeared further across the tinted shield. 'S _tupid secret entrance got me through security, but now I'm wanderin' blindly._ _Hard ta believe these scum bags made it so far down. Why didn't they leave wit' Hun anyway?_ '

Not that it had been too long since the giant withdrew, but it still seemed odd.

' _Guess it don't matter. They're here 'n I gotta take 'em down if I'm ever gunna—'_

A sudden vibration stopped the hero short of rounding a hallway corner. He stepped back to produce his Shell Cell from his leather jacket then flipped it open, mindful of his surroundings as he plugged the device into his helmet's Bluetooth system and answered,

"Tell me ya got good news, Don."

"I do," Donatello answered. It was a soft, distressed sound and Raph straightened himself against the wall behind him.

"Then why do ya sound like Mikey set yer lab on fire? I—is Nia—"

Don sighed. "They're fine, Raph. They're both fine."

" _Just_ fine?"

"They're alive. Okay?"

"Geez." The hothead furrowed his sweaty brow at the genius' snap then rubbed his sore chest. "Dun't gotta bite my head off, Dude. I…I've been worried."

"I know." Donny sighed again, only with less aggravation and more sorrow. "Sorry. Nia's stable, so is Sensei. She did it, Raph."

Good; that was a relief. However, Raph had no voice to let his brother know as much, just the strength to nod.

"They're back at April's apartment with Kaiya."

"So Blaine reached ya already."

"A little bit ago. He, Damien, and I are heading your way now."

"About time. I could use the support. Mikey—"

"Blaine told me."

Raph was powerless against his scoff, regardless of the youngest's justification. "Little idiot wouldn't wait."

"We'll go after him once everything here is settled."

"All we gotta do is break Hugh out. If ya could get here soon, that'd help. I feel paranoid enough wit'out the feeds bein' online an' Sven left me hangin'. Got no idea where he went."

There was a long pause over the phone.

"Don? Ya hear me?"

"I—I'm almost there. I'll help get Hugh and destroy the feeds. But…"

Raphael frowned when another pause reigned until Donatello finished,

"That won't be your only issue."

"What do ya mean?" the hothead questioned while rolling his eyes.

"Sven left because he and Mel…"

"They _what_?"

Donny either sighed or sobbed; Raph couldn't tell which. Either way, his low voice cracked. "Blaine told you about the bus, so…you know what happened with Tabitha, right?"

' _Could'a gone wit'out rememberin' that_ ,' thought Raph, squeezing the Shell Cell. He didn't know her well, but he had started to. And realizing he'd never get the chance felt like a loss.

"Y—Yeah, Don," he answered, throat tight. "I found out right before Sven disappeared."

"Well…Mel found out, too. Confirmed it through him. They're looking for Hunt."

"How bad's the damage?"

"Bad. LH went after her. She's…she's—"

"Berserk?"

"Raph!"

Had his helmet not been on, Raphael would've rubbed his face. Given the time and place, though, he would rather keep as much armor on as possible. "Sorry, Don," he whispered. "Yer wife's extreme. Worse than me. Are ya gunna say I'm wrong?"

"No," Don conceded. "I can't. It hurts, though. She's in pain and the only way she can think to ease it is…"

"What's the time?"

"Little after seven."

"Has she made the mornin' news yet?"

"They're mostly preoccupied with the crash and gang wars. But at this rate both she and LH will, soon."

"If they find Hunt, there won't be a doubt."

"That's why Hugh's situation will be that much more difficult." Donny drew in a sharp breath that cut though his older brother. "Hun and Barrett are on their way, with a small army in tow. They'll reach you before I do."

* * *

Donna Sloan forced Noah's head behind their half wall barrier when a plasma rifle's shot missed its target. She wanted, with all her might, to give the EPF soldier responsible a ferocious glare, yet was much too busy avoiding shards when the glass wall beside her shattered into glistening specs. A few strays sliced her bare forearms, which she used to shield her head. On the bright side, she could still see.

"I swear those idiots are trying to take us out too," the blonde spat. She dared peer over the half wall perforated with bullets, only to duck again when new gun fire reigned overhead.

"There's only two left," Noah added. Cuts of all sizes marred his tanned, chiseled features. Donna felt a little guilty, given that over half were sustained from protecting her while they crossed the cafeteria; however, guilt was a poor motivator in a gun fight.

"Yup; filler guys numero uno and dos. They're horrible help, if you ask me."

"What I don't get is why these punks are lingering."

"They have us boxed in, even." Donna glanced around the enclosed wing she, Noah, and Kyle had taken refuge in a while ago. It looked nothing short of a tornado disaster—complete with casualties from both sides and discarded meals from trainees who'd been eating at the time the Purple Dragon's first struck. "Just around the corner is the entrance wing that leads outside. Why not take that?"

"I did my part," said a hushed voice. "He wouldn't dare…"

"Kyle?" Donna narrowed her gaze at the greasy brunette on Noah's other side. Was it just her, or did he look particularly unkempt today?

"What?" Kyle snapped.

"You're mumbling suspiciously. Got something to say?"

"Other than what a pain in the ass PDs are?" At last Kyle's gaze landed on the blonde, although its heated stare surpassed mere annoyance.

Whatever anger he felt, it was personal, and Donna glanced over the barrier to note similar scowls from the fifteen gangsters, whose machine guns blocked their only way out. That is, save for a two-story drop for the waterfall feature beyond the broken glass wall. However, the group wasn't that desperate. Yet.

"Mister Erlich," one gangster started with a snort, "Hun knows."

Well, that didn't sound like good news, even if Donna had no idea what he meant. Eyebrow quirked and pistol prepared, the female officer sent Kyle a questioning look. He scowled in return, eyes wide and wild. He hit his head on the damaged half-wall, yet remained silent.

"You should've been more thorough," a second gangster added—teased, really.

"Hun's wasted both time and resources here. And you know who he blames?"

"I have no idea what you fools are talking about," shouted Kyle.

His denial earned the trio a hail of thick gunfire that pierced through the wall several times. None of shells did more than scrape Donna; but it had been too close for comfort and she paled at the cries from the remaining EPF trainees. ' _Two more bite the dust._ _Kyle must be hiding something. If he isn't, these PDs sure are convinced he is._ '

"T—try reasoning, Kyle," Donna whispered over Noah's chest.

"What?"

"Our cover is almost obliterated. They got better guns, more people, and seem to think you're involved with…something. Unless"—she squinted—"you _are_."

"My business is just that, Sloan."

"Hey"—Noah pushed Kyle's pistol back, matching the second man's glare—"stop it. We're on the same team, right?"

Kyle hesitated before answering. "Yeah."

Was it wrong of the blonde to disbelieve his reply? He sort'a smirked. Not to mention a glint in his pale eyes soured her stomach as he glanced around the half wall.

After a steady breath, he leaned sideways then poised his handgun at the targets. Fifteen short shots rang out, muffled by retaliating rounds that left Donna's ears ringing. She covered her head and could only pray the man shielding her wasn't hurt worse than before once both parties paused to reload.

"That doesn't seem like reasoning, Kyle!" Donna cried, wiping warm blood from Noah's shoulder. The Grecian hissed, yet kept his chin up—probably all for her sake.

"I told you, I'm innocent," Kyle countered.

"Doesn't matter. You know we're trained for—"

"Boss knows how to deal with rats like you, _Nikt_." Gangster One from before spoke again, except in winded spurts that likely signified he had been wounded. "Everyone keeps letting him down recently, and he's just not in the mood to let you live."

"Wh—what's all this about a 'Nikt'? What is he talking about?"

"Nothing!" Kyle shoved Donna away with his pistol's butt, which forced her palm to land in one of the numerous glass piles from the shattered wall.

"What are you doing, Bastard?" asked Noah with a deep growl. He fought against his nature to retaliate, but only because Donna gripped his bulging bicep.

"I'm the best marksman here," added Kyle, stoic while he changed his gun's magazine. "Donna, you're the fastest. Noah, you're the strongest."

"So?" Noah and Donna asked in unison.

Kyle climbed over the duo until he reached the crux where the half wall met the main one, just before the open space that had once been a glass barrier. He posed his weapon then lifted his eyes from the ground. "You can distract them while I take them out."

"Are you _crazy_?" the duo screamed.

"We did everything for you, Nikt." Gangster Two's continuation caused Kyle to snarl. "Stole. Planted clues. Got him arrested. And the one little bit of information he needed, you screwed up."

"I had every chance to believe they were here!"

Donna felt her face fall, like all spirit from her muscles had suddenly vanished, and she stared at Kyle's profile against the morning sun streaming into the cafeteria. "He…he's talking about Hugh, isn't he?" she whispered. "Are you saying…Hugh was taken because of you?"

Donna made eye contact with Kyle for all of a second before the ex-detective snap-kicked her into the war zone. Its breath-stealing force caused her to trip over a fallen comrade, so she landed on her ass between him and a dead gangster. Rather than be concerned over flying bullets from either the PDs or Kyle, she found herself tingling from a thundering pulse. It sent tremors through the trashed cafeteria. Even when she stood again, it shook her legs.

Like she didn't have enough to focus on.

' _Earthquake or not, I should find cover before—wait, am I_ not _being shot at?_ '

Brows furrowed, Donna tore her attention away from the Nelson hold Noah had on Kyle then glanced ahead to see the reason for the gangsters' cease fire. Turns out, few remained standing. They slowly backpedaled, especially those on the floor, and Donna dreaded what could possibly leave such hardcore criminals mute.

"This isn't happening."

"Shut up, Kyle," Noah hissed.

A grunt sounded as Donna glossed over the duo, but she ignored Kyle's counter remark in favor of turning around. Yards away, a bald, cybernetic man studied her—his impassive expression as disconcerting as the aliens from the movie Virus. Where he had come from, she had no idea. But the EPF logo across his soiled, one-piece uniform left little room for relief.

"I—is that Hunt?" Gangster Two asked.

The cyborg focused on the PD immediately then wasted no time transforming his right arm into a sleek cannon.

"Wait, there are still cops here!" Donna interjected.

Unfortunately, 'Hunt' seemed unconcerned.

He stepped forward once, and Donna whirled—not because she feared Kyle would be shot, but because the impact tremors increased. Bu, bum. Bu, bum. Like a distressed heart, they sped up. The blonde glanced around, noticing the others looked just as confused.

Their brief silence lasted a moment as the tremors paused. Then, the cafeteria's left wall burst into a spray of drywall, wires, and insulation as if a rocket had just pierced it.

The projectile wasn't a rocket, though. It was a female figure—one whose feet broke up the tile floor into chunky pieces. Lithe and dressed in a sleeveless combat suit, she lifted her face from a terrible stumble, and Donna gaped at the molded metal that covered its right half.

Another cyborg. Except this one oozed rage from her deep scowl to her red and blue glare that landed on Hunt.

" _You_ ," she breathed—a hoarse, hostile action.

It was all she said before sprinting. Her long legs carried her in a straight line. Only then did Donna realize the tremors stemmed from the female cyborg's heavy footfalls. So Donna backed up as the woman's metallic fists tossed aside gangsters in droves—her goal was obviously set on Hunt—until something stopped the officer. A gun shot.

It boomed behind her before a familiar body fell against her back. Noah's sudden weight pushed her into the second cyborg's path at a horrible time, just when her metal arm swung sideways.

It hit Donna's stomach so hard, she was sent sailing backwards, towards the glass wall's metal frame. Spinning shapes filled her vision when she met Noah's chest again. Except this time, a burning sensation erupted throughout her abdomen. The pain bit like fire and overcame her—even when she felt herself slip then fall a long ways to somewhere dark and cold.


	47. War Zone (Part 2)

**Chapter 44:** **War Zone (Part 2)**

Donatello jerked his head up from his tablet. He did so in pure instinct, his heart skipping a beat as a Purple Dragon fell, face-first, into the linoleum he knelt on.

"Oi, Braniac!" Raphael's gruff voice brought Don's gaze towards a brightly-lit doorway. The hero heaved—that much was certain, even if his Nightwatcher uniform hid his features—and he kicked aside an AK-47 rifle that had likely been aimed at the younger brother seconds before. "Stay focused!"

"Bishop's firewalls are more sophisticated than your average company's," Don shot back. He stood up then walked alongside a narrow table lined by conference chairs. Such casualty earned a finger jabbed in his direction.

"Ya scrambled Oswald's feeds earlier. How's this any harder?"

"Back then, I wasn't—" The genius cut himself short and shook his head. Returning to the tablet, he imputed a few more key commands into his scrambler program in hopes that the red 'denied' symbol would lift from its screen.

"Hugh needs ya at a hundred percent," added Nightwatcher, stern. "Like Nia 'n Sensei did."

"Yeah, well," Don raised his eyes from the beeping tablet to set them on his brother's tinted visor, "so does Mel."

"Ya can't help her, Donny."

"Camera crews are on the move. You haven't even _seen_ what she's done to the ground floor of this place. If LH doesn't stop her soon—"

"Ya think it was easy for me ta accept I couldn't do anythin' for Ni?" Nightwatcher interjected. He spun his sais, a usual tick, then glanced beyond the room's doorway. "What ya're feelin' right now is how I've felt for the last few months. Ya're her husband. An' can only watch her struggle."

"Nia was—"

"Bein' destroyed in a different way. It's the same principle, Genius. Point is, I had nothin' ta offer except support an' trust that yer geek team will make things beddah. So ya gotta do the same wit' Melody n' LH."

Insightful outlook, yes, yet Donatello couldn't help a bitter smile as his thoughts dwelled on how hostile Mel and Raph had been towards one another throughout the early year. "And here I thought you'd jump at the chance to fight her."

"We don't always agree," the hero countered with a sigh. "But there are some things I respect her for. Now, are the feeds fried or not?"

Donny glanced at the tablet under his brother's growl, imputing one final combination that might work. To his relief, the red logo flashed green and in milliseconds confirmed all the video footage had been corrupted—from core drive to any satellite relays Bishop may've set up. He smirked as he slipped the tablet back into his duffle bag then pulled his bō staff from its holster. Nightwatcher understood his readiness and so signaled him closer to the doorway.

"Did ya see prison cells on any 'a those cameras?"

Don flashed a blank look, his mind still racing with the possibility of an EMP attack. He had to force Blaine's story from his head before he recalled surveying the feeds. Once he did, he snapped his fingers.

"I did. Hugh wasn't in any of them."

" _What_?"

"There's a body and an empty chair in one. All others are vacant."

"Ya mean ta say he ain't even _here_?"

Donatello returned Nightwatcher snarl with a steady look. "He's here. I spotted him two floors above us. Western wing."

"So he freed himself?"

"Seems that way, but…he's with a crowd, near where trainees test their firearms."

"That sounds promisin'."

"Least we know where to look for secret passageways."

"Too bad they only take us up one floor at a time."

"There's a pattern, if you notice."

Nightwatcher paused, his helmet dead still. "We still gotta deal wit stray PDs along the way."

"Please." Donny rolled his eyes then veered around the doorway to seek another passageway. "You like punching things."

"Damn straight," the hero said behind him. "It's a good outlet. Considerin' all the shit's that's been happenin', I could use it."

For once, Donatello agreed with Raphael. However, no matter how much he wanted to hit something, his anger paled in comparison to his dread over Melody's chaos. It had struck him terribly when he arrived on scene in the Battle Shell, and he could only pray Blaine and Damien stayed safe on the ground floor while Leatherhead attempted to stop her attack on Hunt.

* * *

Blaine should've avoided the HQ's front entrance.

While Donatello told him as much, the whole reason they had split up had been because he wanted his face seen by fellow officers. They'd have no means for accusation in regards to Hugh's release if Blaine was recorded on ground level. Unfortunately, the blonde had little success in tracking down Noah, Donna, and Kyle, and his feet felt heavy as he sprinted across the war zone carved by Melody's rage.

It was the first chance he had gotten to move in the last few minutes. Otherwise, he would've still been stuck beside a concrete slab the female cyborg had uprooted by tilting it sideways.

' _Her strength's incredible_ ,' he thought, gasping through the dusty air.

But his marveling moment was broken as he skidded to a halt. An EPF soldier's body curled around the concrete chunk it'd landed on and Blaine almost ran into it when loose rocks below his shoes unbalanced him. His hand saved him a fall by gripping the soldier's vest, although the clouded look over the figure's eyes threatened to cave his legs.

' _Incredible and dangerous. Does she even realize the damage she's causing?_ '

How could she not? The front courtyard looked like a bomb had exploded across the concrete tiers—only that bomb had come in the form of her hands and feet. They hadn't seemed powerful before. It left Blaine wondering how such slender things could leave craters in the wake of where her target once stood.

And yet, whenever his eye caught her figure—at the brief moment it hung suspended against the sun from a high leap—her expression read blind rage. It was the rage of one lost to their pain, and convinced Blaine to steer clear of her path at all costs.

"Mister Williams!"

Blaine heard the deep voice before a large hand ducked his head. He cursed when a second body almost clipped him, except it was mostly directed at the thick claws he felt along his clammy brow. They were too close for comfort, thus he lifted his gaze with care, in case the beast behind decided to toss him.

"U—uh, Leatherhead, was it?" he asked in a shaky tone. The giant croc retracted his hand with a nod, much to the blonde's relief. "Thanks."

"A 'thanks' is hardly needed," the mutant replied. His dark eyes blinked then drew forward, their bloodshot nature adding to the tired wheeze he released. "Humans should avoid this courtyard."

"Someone your size hasn't taken her down yet?" Blaine jumped at Leatherhead's subsequent growl—surprised first by its ferocity then by how it trailed into a shallow cough. He noticed the beast clenched a hand against his lower abdomen, its prominent scales tainted dark. But when he looked up at Leatherhead's raised snout, he saw pure determination behind the mutant's glare.

"My friend is fighting a demon," Leatherhead noted.

"You don't say," countered Blaine. He followed the croc's attention to the cyborgs, whose power collided once more. Their impact corrupted a side pillar along the HQ building, reducing it to rubble as Leatherhead's narrative continued,

"I do not mean Hunt. I mean herself, her rage. It is a fight I know well."

"So that makes you best suited to stop her?"

"No. My might is the reason."

"Why even bring it up?"

"Because I notice how you gaze upon her."

Did Leatherhead sound grieved or frustrated? It was hard for Blaine to tell since that the croc's solid features remained stony.

"She is no monster. She cannot contain the emotion. And like me, she needs friends beside her, not enemies."

"You think I'm gunna rally against her?"

Leatherhead's silence spoke volumes, but less so than the glint in his thin-slit eyes. Darkness seemed to spread over their entirety when they landed on Blaine, and a panic welled in the blonde's chest as the mutant's massive tail twitched, as if ready for retaliation.

"We are here to aid her," Leatherhead added sharply. "See to it your friends know as much."

Blaine never got a change for a counter statement; he had to duck instead, so he could avoid any contact with the mutant's tail as Leatherhead dove back into the fray. Tip or not, the cop had a feeling its power would break his bones.

"Wonder if Damien's having better luck finding the others," he muttered with a sigh.

Turning his back towards the fight between the three powerhouses left Blaine uneasy, yet he did it. He spun then rounded the corpse and seven-foot concrete chunk to head for the building's garden section beyond the west wing. He vaguely recalled Damien fighting in said direction, though for the longest time vaulted over bodies. Until he did see a familiar face.

"Kyle!"

The lanky brunette looked displeased—disheveled even—when he whirled beside a wide bridge that leveled out the incline between ground and first two sub-levels. Blaine found it odd how the man glared from the bridge's inner-most post, yet never showed it and stood steadily as he surveyed the man's undone suit.

"You okay?" he asked.

Kyle pushed his greasy hair back, scowling at the lone portion that fell back into his tired eyes. "Peachy."

"Really?"

"I've taken bullets before, Williams."

"Alright." Blaine frowned under Kyle's snarl then glanced at the man's dress shoes, which seemed to itch for movement across the fake grass. "Where are Donna and Noah?"

"They were with me. Holding up the west wing in the cafeteria until that psycho barreled through."

"You mean…the cyborg?"

Kyle tried again to push all his hair back to no avail. "I tried getting them out of the way, but…"

The blonde lowered his voice. "But what?"

"They got hit, like the PDs inside. Tossed right towards the frame. They…" The brunette shook, his bloody hand gesturing upwards.

Blaine's studied the water feature beside the bridge. It flowed down from a purposeful break between the second and third story, against the HQ building, before emptying into a basin below. Only half of it still worked, and the clear view from the second half revealed that the cafeteria's window wall had been busted. Jagged shards remained wedged in the metal framework, though, like half-foot icebergs tainted red.

"Th—they didn't—" Blaine couldn't finish the statement, simply because it sounded too horrible.

"Both," Kyle confirmed.

That thought alone was enough to send the blonde into a heated frenzy. "Well, wh—where are they now? Why aren't you seeking medical help?"

"I just got down here, Willaims! I haven't even seen their bodies yet."

"They're underneath?"

Suddenly, Kyle's haste to slip between the bridge and building seemed understandable. Just after the brunette nodded, Blaine pushed him forward, uncaring about the steep, concrete slope that carried away the water's excess for recycling.

"Hey, I'm injured enough," the lanky man complained.

"Then hurry up before they bleed out!"

"Yeah"—Kyle's tone oozed a strange placidness as he preceded Blaine under the bridge—"wouldn't want that to happen."

* * *

"Good thing Mahoney was able to draft some schematics, eh?" Donatello asked. He used a thumb and forefinger to enlarge the blueprint on his tablet screen, rotating it to find the dead end stairwell Raphael and he guarded just behind a closed door.

"It ain't accurate," Nightwatcher spat.

"There's a marginal twelve-point-five, two-point-seven difference. It's hardly noticeable."

"Which is how we got lost, right?"

"The blueprints didn't account for the wall we ran into, but we were never meant to take those stairs. Or these ones, apparently."

"Ya were the one who mentioned a pattern."

"And it broke, I admit. Otherwise, these plans fit the building to a 'T'. Mahoney was Bishop's best architect. Even he couldn't deny the practicality in Mahoney's designs. I mean, these hidden passages flow like—"

"Like a stopped up sink."

Donny heard a sai whirl beside him and glanced down at the leather-clad hothead peering through the thin window towards the hall beyond it. "Because Bishop alternated them. Well, added more walls."

"I vote we break through 'em."

The genius withheld a groan when his older brother growled; but the longer he stared at the stocky hero, the more he wanted to smile. Their half-foot height difference only enhanced the comedic thought of Raph acting like a pouty child. Or, as Mikey would call it, 'troll pouting'.

"What're ya grinnin' at, Einstein?"

"To think I was once scared you'd end up as the biggest."

"What's that mean?"

Nightwatcher stomped forward, only to be stopped by a sudden light that broke through the door's window. It arched like a shooting star between the mutants, burying itself into the stone wall beside the stairs leading downwards. They needn't question one another about its nature; both knew it had been a plasma blast, so they readied their weapons as they peeked through the slit.

"See anythin'?"

Don shook his head then leaned down further for a better look. "Just a hole ahead. The hall's half lit. A few circuits must've tripped."

"Wonder what could'a caused that."

"Raph"—the Bō master blanched at his brother's sarcasm, pushing Nightwatcher away from the window entirely—"shut up."

"Great comeback, Genius. Been savin' that?"

"Shut up and listen."

Thankfully, the hothead complied and gripped his sais as he turned the side of his helmet towards the door. Could he even hear through the padding in that thing? Don doubted the possibility, yet couldn't say for sure. He listened alongside his older brother, noting several more blasts in the distance.

They grew closer, then further away again before a clamor of voices erupted. Distress, annoyance—the mutant could detect these emotions just below an onslaught of beeps, so he ensured he and Nightwatcher remained unseen as several heavy footsteps ran past the door.

Donatello counted them all until the seventh. The last one tripped and Don twisted his head when he felt a thump against the door. He didn't see the fallen figure, but he did spot a Purple Dragon wielding a plasma rifle, which she aimed at the door with a demonic smile.

"Don," Nightwatcher hissed.

"Got a smoke grenade," the Bō master countered, having already produced the egg-shaped weapon from his duffle bag.

"Toss it. I'll go."

While he found the idea of his brother entering the fight alone distasteful, Don was aware others were less likely to misidentify the hero as a monster. So, he nodded then tossed the grenade through the window. A dense cover filled the hallway instantly, causing the PD to cough then curse while Nightwatcher slipped out the door. He made quick work of the woman, although her rifle discharged once in her surprise.

Donny jumped at the heat by his feet and before sending a glare through the window at the cloudy view beyond. "Watch it!"

"Dude, it's not my fault she—oh shit."

"Someone's not dead, are they? Please, tell me—"

"No, Brainiac. It's Hugh."

"What?"

The mutant opened the door without hesitation. The stairwell draft sucked in sweeping portions of the smoke screen from the hall, as well as a long body dressed in orange. Its torso caught Don's legs when it tipped over the threshold, and when Don knelt for a closer inspection through the haze, he noted a head of thick, tight curls.

"Hugh?" he asked through a cough.

The detective trembled, his breathing erratic. "C—c—can't. Gotta—gotta m—move. Gotta move."

"Oi, Reese?" Nightwatcher tugged at the man's inmate uniform to turn him towards the lit part of the hallway.

The sight that awaited the brothers closed Donatello's throat with guilt.

Hugh looked horrible. Downright horrible. Over half his dark face was swollen—from his puffed lips to his right eye socket, which resembled a mass of bloated flesh. His festering scent alone convinced the genius he had been denied care for any recent wounds inflicted under Bishop's scrutiny.

And whose secrets had placed him in such a position?

"Oh, God, Hugh," Don whispered.

He ached to apologize, except shook his head to focus himself on checking for any broken bones or signs of a plasma burn. What he stumbled on brought a new sinking feeling to his stomach.

"That wasn't from her gun, was it?" Nightwatcher asked—a broken, soft action.

Donatello swallowed his dread and forced his eyes off the cauterized wrist Hugh clenched against his chest. "Sir, do you know who you are?"

"What kind'a question is that?"

"He's in shock, Raph. Now quiet and stand guard." Although he huffed, Nightwatcher turned as Donny gently gripped Hugh's forearm. "Sir, do you know who you are? How many fingers am I holding up?"

"Stop calling me 'Sir'," Hugh countered in small words. His left eye lifted from the ground to meet the mutant, except it didn't sparkle like normal.

"That was quick," Nightwatcher noted from behind.

Hugh coughed, almost snidely. "Arguing. Wakes me up every time."

"Hey"—Don lifted the man's chin—"we're here to get you out. Although it seems you've done half the work already."

"It was—it was my chance. War zone or not, I"—Hugh's low tone cracked—"I had to. I have to see them. I have to ask her if it's true."

"If what's true?"

Silent, the detective leaned against the doorjamb when Donny reached into his duffle bag. His fingers found a gauze roll, small water bottle, and antibacterial cream in a side pocket. A poor excuse for the treatment Hugh required, but at least it helped.

"So," the mutant kept a firm frown as he opened the items then straightened the man's left arm, "how'd this happen?"

"No worries," Hugh replied. He smiled, which revealed an empty space where a tooth had been until Don poured water over the bubbled wound.

"Your hand's gone," Don said dryly.

"Nonsense; it's in my pocket."

Don grimaced under Hugh's weak chuckle, dabbing the arm stub dry before applying any antibacterial cream.

The man would've withdrawn his arm, if it hadn't been for the firm grip Don held on his bicep, and the mutant exercised all his strength just to start wrapping the gauze around Hugh's forearm. "If you don't want to talk about it, that's fine. But this isn't funny."

"Forgive me, Donatello." Hugh closed his eye, leaning his head back as he fought a whimper. "S—sometimes, jokes are all I have."

"Guess that's why you and Mikey get along so well."

"Y—yeah. Where is he anyway?"

"Off bein' an idiot."

"Oh; hello, Raphael."

"Sure did a number on yerself, didn't ya?"

Dark eye lifted high, Hugh quirked a fat lip. "Had I known you were coming, I would've held off."

"Wait"—Donny paused to fasten the gauze's end—"you did this to yourself?"

"I—I'll let you know if it was worth it…later."

All this stress was giving the genius a headache. He felt it pulse in his skull and jammed the left over medical materials back into his duffle bag with a groan. "Let's focus on leaving. We'll call Blaine once we reach the Battle Shell."

"B—Blaine's here?"

"Hun launched an assault on this place," Nightwatcher answered. "That's why there's PDs hangin' around, although he left a while ago. They must have a secondary mission."

"So Blaine's fighting them?"

The hero nodded as Don began lifting Hugh off the floor. "Lot 'a cops are. An' EPF jerks. Last I knew, Blaine 'n Damien went ta track down yer friends."

"Donna and Noah?"

"An' Kyle," Donatello added. Was that the wrong thing to say? Hugh tensed as if a cold rush had frozen him over, and his wide eye darted to the mutant's slack-jaw expression.

"Send Raphael after them."

"Now? But Mikey—"

"If Kyle has them together, they need help."

"Hugh." Don almost shook

his head, until Hugh's arm around his neck tightened.

"Kyle's a mole," the detective whispered. "He set me up, and if anything pushes him over the edge in this war, he'll snap."

* * *

Blaine felt sickened by the red water he sloshed through. It wasn't deep, but it was rich in the faint sunlight from the entrance, and he growled when Kyle slowed his pace. "For the love of—move!"

The blonde pushed the taller man aside then dug out a small flashlight from his pocket. Clicking it on, he surveyed the dark area under the arched stonework. He could hear collected moisture from the ceiling dripping back into basin like a maddening tick, yet stayed still until he heard a groan.

"Donna?" he called. "Noah?"

The groan sounded again. Maybe replying. Or maybe it was just the industrial filters working overtime to cleanse the tainted water.

"Donna!" he tried again—this time, more distressed.

"Come on, Man," Kyle added from afar. "A wound and fall like that? They can't possibly be—"

"B—Bla—aine?"

Donna sounded so weak and scared that Blaine's eyes began to sting. His erratic flashlight danced across the concrete space, stopping only when it landed on a heap of blue wedged against the bridge's center pillar. He dashed through the water without much concern for where he stepped then landed on his knees before reaching the figures.

"Donna?"

"I—it's cold," Donna replied in the same broken voice.

"Okay. Just—" Blaine lifted his light to see her contorted expression stained by blood trails from her split lips. Unlike him, she couldn't keep her tears away, so he smiled for her, drawing the light down further.

' _Oh, God. So this is where all the blood's…_ ' The blonde swallowed hard then lifted his free hand towards Donna's torso.

Her uniform was torn in many places, but none more noticeable than at her abdomen. It was sliced open from a glass spear that protruded a good inch from her hip. His fingers traveled over the wet, bloodied area towards the back. When he lifted up to see Noah behind her, he found the glass piece had also impaled the Grecian, although…his injury was more centralized. And his eyes remained closed.

"K—Kyle!" he cried. "There's no signal down here. Go out and call for help!"

"N—no, no, no, no," Donna stammered, reaching for Blaine's sleeve.

"Donna, it's okay. I'll stay."

"K—Kyle's here?"

"Yeah, he—"

The woman's tears increased as Blaine stroked her head. "Stop him."

"W—why?"

"Because I was the one who pushed them in the way."

Shit.

Blaine turned in the shallow water to met Kyle's dead stare amidst the daylight. He was fazed less by the snot Donna rubbed against his arm when she ducked her head and more so by the pistol Kyle aimed their way.

* * *

 **A/N:** A pissed Mel is a force to be reckoned with...And Kyle...yeah. But through this all, Hugh still has some humor.


	48. War Zone (Part 3)

**Chapter 44:** **War Zone (Part 3)**

A gun barrel was the last thing Blaine needed to face, and knowing who aimed it made the morning even worse. "Kyle?" he asked. "Wh—what the fuck are you doing?"

"Unfortunately for you, she talked," Kyle answered. So simple and carefree—he sounded unlike any normal person who watched two impaled coworkers bleed out. In fact, his handgun remained level and his legs sloshed through the ankle-high water towards the bridge's center pillar as if he were strolling through a park.

Blaine squinted through the daylight behind the ex-detective for a clearer view of his stoic expression. "You tried to kill them. Seriously?"

"Only because a couple of PDs couldn't keep their mouths shut." Kyle sighed then scratched his eyebrow after a snide scoff. "Should've shot them sooner."

"You mean the PDs? Or Donna and Noah?"

In a split second, Kyle's pale eyes landed on the blonde. "I never shot Donna. Just Noah, when he was distracted. Although it would've saved me some trouble if the bullet had hit her as well."

"Would've been easier than tossing them at a cyborg, right?" Blaine shifted closer to Donna and soured at the warm blood he felt smearing against his arm when she coughed.

"It needed to look like an accident. If more than one of my bullets were buried in their backs, I'd be a prime suspect."

"You're really going to let them die like this?"

Kyle's pistol rose a little further through the moist air, thickening its tension. "She knows something she shouldn't. And her mouth's always been too big."

"Kyle—"

"I planned on killing you anyways. This just speeds things up."

"Me?" The blonde shook his head for focus, despite how still Noah remained behind Donna. "What the hell did I do?"

" _Do_?" Whatever button Blaine had pushed, it contorted Kyle's pale face, his stray hair swaying with his pacing motion. "You and Reese destroyed my life!"

"How?"

"With the Little Red Robberies."

"Dear, Lord." Blaine almost rolled his eyes, but wouldn't risk taking them off the loaded weapon. "You're still harping over that?"

"I—it's not a simple matter," Kyle said through clenched teeth. "I—it was a pinnacle point in my investigations, a chance to show Father how missing persons do, in fact, impact our society in profound ways."

"While true in select cases, that doesn't justify murder."

"Wh—whatever does?" The brunette laughed, which did anything except lighten the mood. "After so many years and transfers and fights, I was wearing on him. Nearly had him convinced. Then you and Reese entered the picture. You _used_ me!"

"A cop isn't in the force for fame's sake, Kyle."

Bang! The blonde jumped along with Donna, flinching at the cool spray that beat against his cheek when Kyle's pistol buried a bullet into the red-tainted water.

"This isn't about fame!" the brunette cried. He aimed his gun again. "I staked everything on that case—my name, my pride, my title. And I lost it all because you and Reese found them. Not me." Here, Kyle paused to snarl, an action that threatened to fire another bullet.

"My father was so ashamed, h—he had me demoted to a beat cop. He said—he said I had too many privileges, that I needed to relearn some humility."

"And maybe some humanity."

Bang! Another shot fired, only this one stopped inside Blaine's calf. The blonde cursed out loud, clenching a hand over his burning wound as the handgun cocked again.

"Don't patronize me," Kyle started in a wild, deep voice. "You both made a promise to help. Y—you broke it."

"M—matters were more difficult than you'd think," snapped Blaine, hissing.

"All you had to do was call."

Now, Blaine's eyes rolled. "I was a _little_ preoccupied being concerned for my daughter!"

"Just a call. Then this could've all gone differently."

"You're fucking crazy!"

Bang! Kyle's gun fired again. It grazed Blaine's shoulder as opposed to piercing it.

"You sound just like _him_!" the ex-detective screamed. "But I'm not crazy! I'm not. I…I just make a better villain than a hero, it seems."

"As if." Donna's weak voice carried over the trickle of filtering water below the bridge, earning Blaine's gentle gaze. She struggled to keep her bloodied face away from the basin, but the task was obviously difficult. "You recruited Hun for the dirty work."

"And where do you think Hun got all the clues he needed to plant at the bombings?"

Hugh's missing badge. The odd, grainy substance on his desk. Misplaced notes. Noah's stolen spare uniform. These memories and more rushed into Blaine's mind as Kyle's wide eyes met his hostages.

"For months I've been stealing under your noses. You were none the wiser. I'm doing the force a favor by shooting you."

"Don and Noah"—Blaine steeled himself when his voice cracked—"they aren't part of your grudge. They don't deserve this!"

"No, they don't. But they've made the connection. And once I'm done here, I'll find Reese."

"You son of a—"

A fourth bang sounded. It rang under the bridge in a series of echoes that froze Blaine within the slow-moving water. Breathless, he caught Kyle's slack-jaw expression. The brunette's eyes fell to his chest and he raised a trembling hand to wipe it across a dark patch over his dress shirt.

It spread like wild fire—much like the blood from the impaled glass through Donna's pelvis. A second passed. Then, Kyle fell.

Blaine's baited breath left him in one shaky exhale as the corpse pushed waves against his folded legs; however, the relief was short-lived. No sooner did he glance up did he met another raised gun: the one responsible for Kyle's demise. He stared down the round Hispanic holding it, not quite confident in his self-control to speak yet.

Of all the people who could've saved them, why Luis Eckley? That man had hated Hugh even longer than Kyle. If he heard Hugh had been set-up…would he keep alive the only witnesses who could prove otherwise?

Guess the next few moments would tell…

* * *

"Hugh, stop it," Raphael said towards his lanky friend. He caught himself before they tripped over a pile of bodies, although Hugh refused to slow down, his elbow pit tense at the base of the mutant's Nightwatcher helmet.

"We—we're at the top. You should have a signal now."

"Dude, seriously." Pulling the man's arm further over his shoulders, Raph stopped by a busted automatic door at the Earth Protection Force's obliterated main entrance. "Maybe ya should'a gone wit' Donny ta the Battle Shell. Ya're already—"

"No." The detective's stern injection tore Raph's gaze away from the wrapped stub Hugh called a left arm. "Let him focus on pinpointing Michelangelo's location. As for me, I got my friends into this mess. I—I should be here."

"I can track 'em. Alone. Besides, this courtyard's the last place we wanna be. It's practically teemin' wit'—"

Raphael's next word faded under a savage roar. It shook the foundation. Or maybe that's what it seemed like since adrenaline jolted the mutant. He glanced up as darkness blocked the sun then pulled Hugh sideways to avoid being hit by a meteorite made from two powerhouses. Hugh and Raph rolled towards a collapsed pillar, just shy of the deep impression Melody and Leatherhead made in the entrance patio.

The half-blonde rose in seconds—without pause—and heaved before meeting the croc's claws with a snarl. "Let me finish it!"

"You have been fortunate, my friend," Leatherhead snapped in return. But despite his bulging arms and thighs, he slipped backwards along the cracked ground's rubble, pushed by the cyborg's rage. "While his EMP capabilities have been damaged, the news crews will only grow. We must leave!"

"Not before he's as _dead_ as Tabitha!"

Raph flinched at how hard Melody tossed Leatherhead aside, as if her backhand rivaled a moving train. The crocodile mutant spiraled away as the cyborg dashed ahead to hit her target again, and Raph cursed how close their fight neared him and Hugh.

"Holy shit," the detective whispered. "W—was that Melody?"

Raphael loathed answering such a question; he could already picture Donatello's pained expression. So he kept quiet, focused instead on mapping a clear path around the danger.

"There's a Channel Six News copter too?"

Raphael sent Hugh a dry look behind his visor then glanced at the colorful sky. A helicopter hovered over the war zone like a loud vulture seeking ripe meat. It seemed very interested in the way Melody's fist indented Hunt's twisted arm. Nonetheless, Raph pushed Hugh further against the doorframe behind him.

' _Least we're outta the limelight. For now._ ' But he knew a decorative awning wouldn't cover their asses for long, especially if Melody continued her rampage. ' _Turtle Luck likes ta push things from bad ta—_ '

"Pull up!"

Worse.

Raph guarded Hugh as the helicopter's whirl intensified. He watched it swing towards the EPF building in full preparation for action should its propellers knock down any dangerous debris. They only grazed the third story, though, straightening before zooming away.

With good reason, too.

A noise like rocks beating against one another drew the hero's attention to the road. Over the pillar he used as cover, he spotted a tall arch that served as the courtyard's threshold from the sidewalk. It crumbled bit by bit under the immense pressure of Melody's attacks, spraying stone chunks in all directions when she threw Hunt right, left, up, and down—until little remained.

The male cyborg stumbled backwards, yet stayed upright. Raph couldn't imagine how; his legs were bent inwards and his head sparked like the robots built in Don's childhood. On top of that, he could barely move what was left of his metallic arms since they were twisted into spirals.

One would think that'd be a warning sign for retreat. So why was he standing still?

"Mel, I got the controls! Do it now!"

' _Sven?_ ' When he climbed further over the pillar, Raphael caught a glimpse of bright orange hair. The teen cyborg held something as he raced towards Melody, prompted by the EPF agent hot on his heels. ' _Barrett. 'A course._ '

"Controls?" Hugh huffed by Raph's boots. "What the hell's—"

The mutant helped his friend stand, just in time for Sven to toss whatever he held. The black box soared through the morning light to meet Melody's hand yards away, and when she squashed it, Barrett whirled in the opposite direction.

Well, that couldn't be good news. Yet neither Sven nor Melody paid her any mind.

The duo encroached on Hunt with the half-blonde leading the way like an army general. She paused by the twitching figure, panting. Then, she screamed. Not some docile girl-like scream or an aggravated snarl, but a downright psychotic yell that accompanied her final act.

Her hands squashed Hunt's skull until her palms almost met. Gross bits of organic matter, synthetic liquids, and wires spurted out the top in an oozing mass—a nauseating sight—and it added to nerve-racking uncertainty that weighed Raphael down.

Hunt's shakes worsened to the point where his misshapen body convulsed. Something was wrong. Head or not, the EPF doll still posed a threat; Raph could sense it.

"Melody! Sven! Get back!"

"On it, Raphael!"

Raph blinked when a green mass darted by. Leatherhead's massive form moved with surprising grace across the war zone, so Raph pushed Hugh down to keep him protected, in case LH failed.

' _Come on, Man,_ ' the hero thought, swallowing. ' _Donny would be a mess..._ '

Yes! LH's claws captured Melody's arm. She glared, but maybe she was too tired to act on rage anymore. Or maybe the high-pitched cry Hunt's body emitted finally woke her. Leatherhead had just enough time to toss her into Sven, then fling them across the courtyard.

With an animalistic growl, LH spun so his massive tail hit the male cyborg like a hockey puck. However, the metal and skin hardly touched before an immense force landed Raphael on his carapace, leaving his ears ringing and his lungs tense.

* * *

A sudden boom behind Blaine was enough to rattle him from the inside out, and it begged for attention as he braced his shoulder against a chain-link fence to keep pressure off his wounded leg. "W—what now?" he asked.

"Bomb?" a paramedic answered. Such disasters must've been commonplace for her because she continued cleaning Blaine's leg while other responders used their van's to radio in more recruits.

"I gotta get up there," Blaine said, shifting.

"What you _need_ is to have this bullet removed."

"Later!" Blaine pushed aside the woman and returned her glare with his own.

"Any infection isn't my fault," she noted with a huff. She then left the blonde to join a group of paramedics. They spanned from the road riddled with blinking lights into the back lot behind EPF headquarters, traveling around the war-torn area to attend victims.

"Where are you going, Williams?

Blaine pushed off the high fence then sent Eckley a stern look. "To find Hugh in this mess."

"He's in a basement cell."

"Unless something happened."

"You think he got away?" The Hispanic quickened his pace to catch up with Blaine's gimp along the paved hill that met the main courtyard.

"I'll mind my business, you mind yours."

"But you _won't_ forget our deal."

Eyes set on the grip Eckley held on Blaine's arm, the blonde grimaced on the inside. "I know what my account will be, Doughnut. And if Donna and Noah survive their surgery, it'll make you look even better."

"Good."

"Now"—Blaine removed Eckley's fat hand—"didn't a few paramedics ask for your…muscles?"

"Oh, right. Catch you later, Williams." The puffed-up Hispanic flashed a smile Blaine wished he could punch. Since he left without a fight, though, Blaine let the matter slide. The supposed bomb was a more pressing matter, anyway.

' _Just gotta make it up this hill_.'

Going down hadn't been such an issue. Going up felt like a tedious battle. Blaine's leg gave out on several occasions; however, its bruised, scraped nature wouldn't deter him from his goal. He reached the summit with a wheezing sigh of relief then rounded the building's corner. Several upturned stones sought to unsteady his advancement, but those were less distracting than the putrid scent that burned his sinuses. Blaine twirled, wondering where it came from. Then, he paused.

It emanated from the obvious circle around him. The bomb's epicenter had formed a crater that cleared away debris and bodies from the patios, leaving it silent, smooth, and clear—save for a harsh scorch mark under Blaine's shoes. The cop jumped because it looked like a figure reaching towards him, and he fell backwards against the sloped ground with a gasp.

' _Please, tell me Raphael didn't take Hugh this way…_ '

Beep, beep! Beep, beep!

Blaine fumbled for the cell phone buried in his pocket. He swiped his finger over its sensitive screen then pressed it against his cheek, unable to keep a squeak from his tone. "Raphael? Where are you? What happened? Why is this place—?"

"There's a point where almost bein' blown up gets old," the mutant grumbled over the phone line.

"Blown up?"

"Ya seen that black spot by what was the arch yet?"

Blaine's throat tightened when his eyes fell on the mark he avoided. "Yeah."

"That _was_ Hunt."

"Shit. Y—you were here?"

"A lot 'a us were."

"Hugh?"

"Him too."

"So"—Blaine tugged at his dusty hair, short though it may be—"you're all okay?"

"Okay would be stretchin' it." Raphael paused for some angry snarl the blonde couldn't decipher, but it remained in the mutant's voice once he returned to the call. "Channel Six's got more shots than I care for. Sven 'n Melody are missin'. LH was hit, bad. I'm decent, but Hugh's…"

"Where are you?"

"In the Battle Shell, camouflage mode. Barely had time to load everyone in when Donny rolled up just after Hunt went nuclear."

"Hugh shouldn't go far."

"Why not?"

"I…I set up a deal. It's with someone I hate, but it benefits us both."

"Hugh says no way," Raphael replied after a pause. "He guesses ya mean Kyle."

"It's not. It's Eckley."

"Fucking Doughnut?"

Cringing at Hugh's cry in the background, Blaine pulled himself out of the crater then glanced around as choruses of sirens intensified. "Kyle's dead. I'll explain later. We have a lot to go over, so let me pick him up."

"Ya sure, Blaine? Ya risk him goin' back ta that cell."

"He's not going back."

"How are ya so sure?"

"All Doughnut's ever wanted is to be glorified and not have to work for it. Clearing Hugh's name and exposing Kyle gives him the chance."

"Still don't like it."

"Me either, but it's what we got. A fugitive husband would only make matters worse for Marina. It's…not what she needs right now. So tell me where the _hell_ you are!"

There was a sigh followed by a soft bang. "East Fifteenth. We were gunna pick up my Shell Cycle I hid in a pocket alley at Stuyvesant Square then drop Hugh off at April's. After that, we head for Mikey."

"I'll grab my cruiser and swing your way then," added Blaine as he gimped towards the sidewalk. "How's Michelangelo? Have you spoken with him?"

"Not yet. An' his GPS went dark not long ago."

"Think he's still with Hun?"

"Gotta be. Unless he somehow aced a boat, sub, or plane license, there's no oddah way he could be travelin' over water."

"Water?"

"He was headin' down Lower Bay, between Raritan 'n Sandy Hook, but Don's sensors ain't pickin' up anythin' around there. Lord knows what he'll find…"

* * *

Oh, God. Sophia felt like hurling. 'The Exorcist' sort of vomit, too, not the 'I brushed too far back on my tongue' kind. She moaned, wishing the spinning blurs in the white-washed room would vanish if she closed her eyes. They stayed, and taunted her as she writhed against the gurney that kept her captive.

"M—Marco?" she called to a surgical table. The Italian man wiggled his head. Otherwise, he remained still, his breathing labored as if the straps across his bare torso were too tight.

"Come on, M—Marco," she added in Italian. "D—don't leave me alone."

"I have no idea what you said, Lovely, but I doubt he's listening."

Suddenly, Soph's urge to vomit increased. She choked it back as a well-built man rounded her gurney, his cleft chin raised. He would've looked like a perfect gentleman to any lady—handsome, even—if it weren't for the condescending smirk across his tan face. Oh, and the white scrubs that made him look like psychotic butcher.

"You again," Sophia grumbled with a sneer. "Let us go before I…I…"

"Still dizzy, huh?" The man clicked his tongue then jotted something down on a clipboard the blonde swore was animated. "I had hoped the nausea would pass before we started. Maybe this is for the better."

"St—start what?"

"Clarke!" The man ignored Sophia, pointing towards elsewhere. "Bishop said he wants them prepared before he arrives in a few hours."

"Is this really what you want to use, Sean?" A short pause followed before Clarke's voice strengthened. "I liked what we applied to the Hispanic better."

"We were testing then," Sean replied, hooked nose scrunched. "This time, I want a theme. It'll make the splicing look more…elegant than what that beast turned into."

"I think he looks amazing."

"You would." With a curt scoff, Sean abandoned the clipboard, strolling beside Sophia's gurney. His finger tips grazed her naked skin, from her toes, up her leg and hip, to her elbow. They stopped there, near her inner forearm, and he grinned, eyes a lit with anticipation. "Forget claws and scales, this skin will sprout beautiful feathers, like an angel."

"What if she winds up with stumpy ostrich legs instead? Or a Barn Owl's beak?"

"Well"—Sean's grin grew—"those could look beautiful too."

.

* * *

 **A/N:** Everyone is having a bad day...


	49. The Island

**A/N:** Hang in there, _WOLF_ , it's almost over. LOL Meanwhile, Merry Christmas Eve!

:D

* * *

 **Chapter 45:** **The Island**

No matter what the movies portrayed, hanging onto a helicopter undetected was the worst. It felt neither heroic nor epic. In fact, it was a pain in the ass, cold as hell, and Michelangelo feared his cape would be swept up in the propeller blades that carried him, Hun, Switchblade, and a pilot towards Bishop's so-called Island.

Yet despite his aching side and the dawning day, he did it. ' _And Leo says I'm too loud for missions like this. Keep tellin' him I'm as good as any ninja we know—better, even…_ '

Wow, that taunt felt so hollow without the Jonin there to endure it

' _Focus, Mikey_ ,' the hero thought. ' _A Stealth Watch can hide you from view, not from thermal detection. Let's be careful where we step._ '

Especially since Bishop owned the Island. It was Earth Protection Force certified and surrounded by a bay on all sides. The man's signature Sci-Fi touch riddled every inch of blue and gray metal across it. Mikey could tell, even before Hun's helicopter perched on its top. What he couldn't decide is if it should be considered a sub or closed off cargo ship. Either way, its sleek, four-story high design could easily be mistaken as land mass from afar.

The uncertainty kept him on edge as he slipped off the helicopter's tail boom. He heard the engine power down while veering around the flying machine, his tinted vision set on Hun and Switchblade when they exited its cockpit.

"Little bland up here, isn't it?" Hun asked.

Yes, it was—consisting of just a security fence around the landing pad. Mikey joined the mammoth in surveying the open area, chilled by the sea breeze, except the sun kept him from too looking far.

"He said there would be a way down," added Switchblade.

"Hey!"

The trio turned. What had once been flat ground was now raised in the shape of a tower with open doors. Inside it, two EPF troops aimed their plasma weapons and took cautious steps forward.

"You aren't Murphy," one noted, glaring at Hun.

"Perceptive," Hun countered.

"Why'd you have his pass code?"

"Not your business. Switchblade."

The cyborg responded in a flash. His metal arms bent inwards, so the blades protruding from his elbows lengthened; and before the troops could pull their triggers, the arm-swords ran them through. It took perfect control for Mikey to withhold his disgust over the blood that dripped from Switchblade's arms—more so for the way the cyborg tossed the bodies overboard, like he were flicking away bugs off his plate.

' _There was no need to kill them_ ,' the mutant thought. ' _They're just goons._ '

But since when did Purple Dragon differentiate between pawns and lead enemies?

Sighing, Mike followed Hun and Switchblade into the raised opening. It turned into a narrow passageway, a ramp, that evened out after some time. At its end laid a round room with at least five different exits. Hun and Switchblade paused by the right-most passage, but then took a hard left, leaving Mikey to flail backwards to avoid being hit.

He kept a further distance behind them afterwards and produced both nunchaku from his utility belt, just in case the Stealth Watch failed.

"Here's the main directory he told us about, Boss."

"About time," Hun answered. In the midst of another round room, he bent down to read a mounted map. Mikey decreased his speed and when he rounded the gangsters' backsides, the mammoth growled. "This thing is a damn beehive. Where the hell is the deck?"

"Uh"—Switchblade's metal finger tapped the plastic that encased the map—"this one. Eight, Section A-Main. He said the Pods were kept on the same level as the Kennels. Those are towards D, the gene-splicing section. Or whatever the hell it's called."

"That's where Rojo's been…"

"Should we head that way? Mahoney said the heroine's there and—"

"Rojo's dead. He's beyond saving, from what I hear. Take"—the blonde squinted like an old man—"Bow Ramp 3?"

"So this is a ship after all."

"I don't care what it is, so long as Little Spice is here. Now move!"

Although Hun's boom jolted Switchblade, the cyborg listened, entering a passageway opposite of where Michelangelo crouched.

' _Sounds like this is where we part ways. I need to go where these supposed Kennels are. Let's see_.' Mikey approached the map then blanched.

It wasn't traditional in that it showed the ship as a side-view. Rather, it displayed a bird's eye perspective with different colors for ramps and rooms, connecting three decks at a time. A long look made it seem like a dizzying illusion of honeycomb patterns, which left the mutant wondering if Bishop had designed it to help or deter his lackeys in their travels.

' _Where's Don when you need him?_ '

Busy, of course. And like hell the mutant would risk turning on his phone and texting a picture. Who knows what signal detection Bishop had installed?

' _Least I'm free. For now. I vote we take the…yellow brick road, part B!_ '

According to the color code, the ramp led to the same deck as the Pods. Ergo, it should lead to the Kennels if he took the Stern Ramp. Right? That optimism propelled the mutant down the subtle decline until he reached another room—this one narrow like a Twinkie and lined with doors instead of passageways with labels stenciled over their arched openings.

' _Is anything simple is this place?_ '

Mikey was so tempted to hit his head against the curved, metal walls. Several things stopped him through, one of them being reason and another being a voice. He whirled at it, silent as a door slid upwards by the Stern Ramp exit. Two men left a white-washed area within and when the barrier returned into place, Mikey noticed the universal symbol for a men's restroom at its center.

"Have to come all the way out here to take a piss," a man said. He ran his hand over his styled, black hair, rugged features flush under the LED lighting. "A whole two sections. I'm telling you now, Clarke; I'm tempted to relieve myself in jars."

"Disgusting, Sean," the older of the two noted. His wrinkled skin deepened when he scrunched his red nose and he adjusted his wire-frame glasses with a scoff. "Aside from that being unsanitary in a lab, you'd start a fight with my Bear-Hound Trackers."

"Scared I'll hurt them?"

Sean met Clarke, grinning. Something about his grim charm wasn't Kosher in Mikey's eyes, so he carefully watched the duo approach a door at one of the room's two shortest ends.

"You have your own pets now," Clarke countered while Sean laid a hand over a scanner. "Leave mine be. I'm already down one. Poor Dom…"

' _Oh, so the freaky beasts that about gutted me are his pets? Why am I not surprised?_ '

"I've played with the boy more than the girl." Sean stepped back once the scanner confirmed his identity, and the mutant ground his teeth at how flippant he acted over Sophia and Marco. "They both have promise, but Bishop needs to get here soon—so I can really unleash their potential."

Clarke trailed his younger coworker through the door, Mikey not far behind. "You've already done more than what Bishop wanted. He said to prep then wait."

"It's been forever since we got live bodies. He should know better than to assume we'd sit idle."

"To assume _you'd_ sit idle. I could've waited."

"Whatever." With a shrug, Sean sped up, his white boots guiding him around a gentle bend that seemed to stretch on forever. "He isn't fond of…what's her name? Moretti? If something goes wrong, it's not much loss. Although"—the man paused, so ignorant of the nunchaku Michelangelo longed to use that he laughed—"I hope it works. The wings would be so unique."

"Well," Clarke took the lead as he continued down the bend, "Rizzo didn't turn out as planned."

Wait; had Marco already been spliced? Did that mean…they started work on Sophia too? The shock almost froze Mikey, before a new determination crept through his veins. He no longer walked curiously behind the duo when they passed a second door. Instead, he stayed low and maintained a frown, promising both men would be hit upside the head before the day was over.

' _Dude!_ ' A sudden waft hit the hero's senses. He could identify its putrid scent easily, even if he'd rather not. But the further he traveled along the single path, the more assured he felt that the lumps lying behind the massive bars on his two sides were decaying. ' _What do they use them for if the things are dead?_ '

He shouldn't have asked. Not a second later he glanced ahead as the chatting men hung a sharp left. He heard a long crunch before he saw the Bear-Hound in an open kennel ahead. Its bloodied teeth sunk into a carcass heaped atop another, ripping into its stringy muscle with a snarl. He gulped down the bite without much chewing, and Mikey soon realized the carcass had been another Bear-Hound.

' _I swear I'm going to hurl_.'

The mutant dared take a step forward, but he stopped when the Bear-Hound's long ears perked up. Its sniffing sounded deafening to Mikey and his heart skipped as the black beast rose on all fours, its thick neck rumbling with savage growls.

Various blood pools across the kennel had possibly covered his scent until that point. Now? If he wanted to pass, he'd have a fight on his hands.

After all, sight was only one sense animals relied on. And a Stealth Watch could only offer so much coverage...

.

* * *

"I swear, one day Mike's gunna give me an aneurysm," Donatello grumbled. He glossed over the GPS grid on his tablet and groaned, squinting at the sun glare that clouded the map.

"Still no signal?"

Don refused to grace Raphael with a look, instead focusing on how much he loathed being in the daylight—even at the mouth of a culvert below Battery Park. "All we know is that he was heading south-west near the Lower New York Bay, towards the Raritan area, a few hours ago."

"Why would he go that long wit' his phone on then just switch it off?"

"I'm sure it's been off ever since he started following Hun. He knows better than to let it distract him or give him away."

"An' that we'd fry his shell as soon as we could."

"Probably."

"So somethin' else is jammin' the signal? Could that be where Bishop's Island is?"

"Within the vicinity. But we'll have to look the old fashioned-way."

"What? There's no app around _that_?" Raphael sent a smirk through the culvert's long shadow, but Donny countered him a pointed look.

"Without the main frame's location, I can't do squat. Cloaking technology is a new field, and Bishop's work in it is far more advanced than mine."

"Ya cloaked the Battle Shell today. Now we're gunna take the Half Shell for its maiden voyage. I'm sure it'll do just as well."

"Don't call it the 'Half Shell'."

"Hey; for once, I agree wit' Mikey. The thing looks just like an inflatable shell, except—ya know—skinnier."

Don blanched. "Any and all similarities are purely coincidental. It's shaped that way to cut back resistance for a smoother, faster ride, and the elastic synthetic rubber—"

Raph held up his hands. "Dun't care about technicalities, Brainiac. It floats, it's got a twin motor, it's what's gunna get us Mike back. An' until ya come up wit' a better name, I'm callin' it the Half Shell."

All the Bō master could do was sigh. He rarely won arguments against Raphael and Michelangelo. Possibly because, unlike them, he knew when to relinquish a fight for a greater cause.

' _We have enough trouble as is. Hopefully Blaine's right in having taken Hugh. Meanwhile, almost everyone else is at April's. Since they're sleeping, April should have time to…to start tracking Sven and Mel…_ '

"I'm sure she didn't run far."

Jerking up at Raph's gruff yet concerned tone, Don realized he had been zoning and so he flashed a weak smile. "I—I saw what she did at EPF headquarters. I—I—I don't want to blame her…but it was a lot of damage. A lot of people got hurt."

"Like Donna and Noah."

The genius nodded, heavy-hearted from the news Blaine had given.

"I'm wit' LH on this one," Raph added after a pause. He sounded almost tentative, which seemed odd. "It ain't Melody's fault. Sometimes…rage is too strong. If I had that power an' someone took ya, or Mike, or Leo from me? I wouldn't have acted any different, I won't lie…an' my brain _hasn't_ been scrambled by some whack-job."

"No," Don let out a hollow laugh, "you do that yourself."

"Ya'll see her again, Donny. She needs ya, especially now."

"Thanks, Raph." The Bō master's whisper felt so grave, it weighed down his broad shoulders as his tablet beeped. "Our route's been cleared. Ready?"

Raphael met his brother with a smirk, cracking his bandaged knuckles. "Let's go sailin'. Bet Mike's beggin' for our help by now."

.

* * *

"Don't eat me! Don't eat me! Don't eat me!"

Michelangelo's cries echoed off the new room he had entered beyond the Kennels. They joined various howls, squawks, yelps, and grunts from the smaller kennel's lining the curved area; however, the hero had no time for concern over any other animals' distress. He was much too busy scrambling for cover from the massive Bear-Hound at his heels and slid around a table bolted to the slick floor.

As the beast's claws scraped its metal surface, Mikey's nimble moves shot him between the table's legs like a cannon ball. He rolled to his feet in seconds then glanced over his shoulder when he heard a harsh bang and a squeal. The Bear-Hound had hit a few kennels behind the table, denting them, but didn't pause long before charging again.

' _Just one beasty this time and I can barely keep up._ '

Then again, he was also injured, his Stealth Watch damaged. He'd have to brainstorm a creative way to defeat the creature if he had a chance of continuing his mission.

' _Upsy Daisy!_ '

Mikey jumped towards the kennel wall, pushing off it with his leg just in time for the beast to swipe then crash into the metal bars. The Bear-Hound scrambled for traction as trapped animals protested, and once Mikey landed behind it, he ducked below its swaying tail.

' _Not very graceful indoors, is it?_ '

With that in mind, the mutant darted towards the Kennel entrance. Thumping footfalls sounded from behind. He ignored them, though, to give the room a cursory glance. Three exits, one of which was closed off. Two bolted tables by the center-most wall of kennels. Everything else could move, so Mikey headed for the first rolling piece of furniture he could find: a clear, plastic dresser.

He surfed on it until he almost met a kennel wall. The thumps quickened as Mikey drove off. He sunk into the crack between the dresser and kennels, poising his legs against the furniture's plastic face. The top drawer whacked him in the forehead from the force, which sent several syringes towards the orange 'T' over his plastron. These, he almost shooed away before he read their labels.

' _Oh, idea!_ '

The Bear-Hound caught himself on the dresser's back, startled by the mutant's sudden decision, while Mikey grabbed every syringe possible. They were already uncapped—a safety hazard, for sure—so he dug both hand-fulls into the creature's thick neck. They emptied their poisonous load in seconds, and Mikey straightened his legs with a loud cry when the Bear-Hound took a swat at him.

The beast skated across the room, stopped only by another dresser. It sunk off the furniture like a drunkard, its stoutly legs shaking, its stub snout drooping. It swayed then its snarls faded into whimpers as it lowered itself to the floor. They were agonizing cries for help, yet Mikey breathed a sigh of relief that the Pentobarbital worked as well on mutant animals as it did on pets.

"The hell?"

Relief, gone. Michelangelo faced Clarke and Sean. They stood in the once-closed doorway that resided between the two Kennel exists, still as Mikey readied his nunchaku.

"Who are you? What's?" The older, chubbier man gawked then turned his attention on the dead Bear-Hound. "X—Xavier?"

Mikey grimaced as Clarke ran to the beast, hesitating to touch it, as if it would crumble beneath the man's palms. "I'm all for unique pets, Dude. But that thing wasn't nice."

"Who the fuck are you?" Clarke removed a syringe from the beast's neck and scowled. "You _euthanized_ him?"

"I had a choice to make," Mikey answered, venturing towards the man in white. "I chose me."

"You freak! Sean, close the—" Clarke swung an arm in the hero's direction, except Mikey was already behind him. Wordless, he whirled his nunchaku, rendering the man unconscious before he could give Sean any further instructions.

"Hold it!" Mikey wrapped his nunchaku's chain around Sean's wrist.

Pulling it away from the hand scanner, he twirled the slimmer man about then used the butts of his second nunchaku pair to hit Sean at his skull's base. He collapsed instantly, much easier than the last scientist the hero had fought.

' _Still got no idea where Kingston learned his moves. If it was with the EPF, these guys sure weren't in the same program…_ '

"N…no, Figo?"

"Sophia!"

Albeit broken and soft, the blonde's voice had never sounded so sweet. Michelangelo vaulted over Sean's body, racing into the lab beyond. A strong antiseptic smell within made him scrunch his face, but he didn't slow down until he saw her.

She was dressed in nothing more than a tube bra and panties, strapped to a metal table that may've been the cause of her shivers. Mikey stopped beside her and quickly glossed her over. To look for injuries, of course—not to note the dense freckles across her thin, toned limbs or the tattooed star trail across her heart and collarbone. Those were just glaring.

"Non ci posso credere," she whispered. "Y—you're here? E—e—even after I…?"

Smiling, Mikey ran a hand down Sophia's flush cheek, surprised by its heat below her unruly hair. "Tempers don't deter me, Hoshi."

"But—"

"You can apologize later."

"Who says I need to apologize?"

The mutant flashed an impish smirk at the reclined blonde. "Should I leave then?"

"No"—Sophia spoke so fast she paused at her own voice—"I—I mean. Get me the hell out, Figo! You'll need my help."

"You sure you're in any shape to fight?" Mikey undid the straps across Sophia, and helped her sit up.

"S—sure I can," the blonde answered with a huff. She pushed him aside to stand, but her legs buckled before her first step.

Mikey caught her as she cursed in Italian and shook his head.

"Y—you aren't in top-shape either," Sophia spat. Odds were high she found the whole situation embarrassing. "What about your side?"

"Least I can walk. I just gotta ignore the pain."

"Likewise." Again, the blonde stepped forward, only to find herself back in Michelangelo's arms.

"Will you let someone be _your_ hero for once?"

"Last guy who tried that—" The blonde stopped herself, licking her thin lips as she glanced sideways.

Mikey followed her line of sight to a tube of sorts. It looked like a glowing pill cut in half with a body hung inside—a man in stretchy shorts. White and brown striped feathers layered his head in a wild hairstyle, leaving his face free like a helmet. They covered his neck to his shoulders, where they grew scarcer around his pectorals and abs until they reached his hips. From then on, his legs were pure bird, ending as ash-gray talons that would be unable to fit on Mikey's shoulders.

"I—is that…?"

"Marco," Sophia finished. Her fingers gripped the hero's biceps as they approached the bird-man. "The assholes were supposed to wait for Bishop," she added along the way. "But he was…he was injured and the younger one was excited, so…Marco took a hit for me, when the Bear-Hounds came to my house. Seems like a theme lately."

"They took you from your house?"

"Hunted me. Guess they were supposed to bring back more than my necklace. I—it's my fault. I froze again, so Mum…Sh—she was crying, Figo. If she—if she's—"

"I'm sure she's fine, Hoshi. I never heard about anyone else being taken other than you and Rizzo. Now"—Michelangelo grinned, unfazed by the blonde's glare when he lowered her to the floor—"let me get this guy down."

"How do you plan to get us all out?"

Mikey shrugged then pushed every button along the pod until a hiss startled him. He jumped back as the thick restraint over Marco's chest clicked open and he caught the bird-man, grunting. A pain shot through his side under the weight. It was lighter than expected, but sudden enough that he fell to one knee.

"Figo?"

"Don't worry, Hoshi; I got it all under…con…trol?"

Aw, crap. Michelangelo's grin died when he resituated the bird-man. His eyes caught a grotesque figure starring from the doorway and it looked far from welcoming…


	50. Fly

**Chapter 46:** **Fly**

Sophia had seen many mutants in her life thanks to the Sect from Moher. None of them compared to the disgusting figure that blocked the Splice Lab's doorway.

Its silhouette resembled a football player that had been hit by a truck. Multiple times. Its thick thighs morphed into bird legs barely accompanied by feathers around its bulbous hips, and it stood off-center—like its larger top-half weighed him down. Wide shoulders were thickened by hairy joints, which connected bear-like paws to his swaying arms. They were reminiscent of the Bear-Hound Trackers, leaving the heroine uneasy.

Still, the mutation's Frankenstein nature paled in comparison to its face. A dark beak protruded from the center, starting at the forehead and flaring downwards until it replaced the nose and mouth. All tan skin around its bubbly seam glistened yet also looked cracked. And when the beak parted, pushing its swollen eyes up even further, it revealed a line of sharp little teeth.

"I can easily say that is the grossest thing I've ever seen," Turtle Titan noted from the side.

"Did it…escape from somewhere?" Sophia whispered.

"Maybe another kennel?" Titan paused as the monster's head bobbed on its toothpick-like neck. "I fought a Bear-Hound earlier, so…"

"Wh—what is it?"

Whatever it was, its hiss-yelp pierced Soph's ears and it charged on all fours into the lab.

"Uh, here, birdy-lizard-bear-thing!" Titan called out. He pushed Marco onto Soph then sprung up to flail his arms. The creature veered his way, but an injured side left the hero less agile than usual.

"Figo!" The heroine tried standing. She failed.

"Bad beast," said Titan across the lab. He swatted the beak that nipped at him arm with his nunchaku then flipped sideways, away from its paws. "You, uh, move Marco, Hoshi! See if he can fly or somethin'! I got this!"

"What about your wound? You can't ignore it forever!"

But he could ignore her, it seems.

' _Stupid Figo_.' Sophia huffed as the hero clamored for attention, grip tightening on whatever she held.

"T—that's hurts, Sophie."

"Oh!" The blonde glanced down at her hands, only then realizing they squeezed Marco's feathered forearms. Their plush whiteness still shocked her, since he has been hairy and tan for as long as she could recall. "Sorry," she grumbled in her native tongue. "Uh, can you stand?"

The bird-man slumped against the Splice Lab's wall, groaning. He let Sophia rearrange his arms; however, as soon as her fingers brushed the rough texture of his talon-hands, he screeched. Such a foreign protest must've startled them both because no sooner did Sophia fall on her ass did Marco's eyes open wide.

Gone was the olive green Soph had grown accustomed to. Pitch black replaced their rich color, which accentuated their new rounded, larger nature. "M…Marco…"

"Why—why do you look so funny?" Marco asked, feathers fluffed around his titled head. "Why is everything…?"

"I—I'm sorry. I…I couldn't stop them."

Marco glanced down at his white arms and legs. "Shit!"

"I—it's not so bad. I mean—"

"No. Don't blame yourself, Sophie. I—it was only a matter of time."

Huh?" Sophia blinked, brows furrowed by the way the bird-man ran his talon-hands through his wild head feathers. "You aren't freaked?"

"Hell, yeah, I am," Marco continued in Italian. "But I've been messing with Bishop for years. I've prepared myself for what might happen if caught. Although"—his black eyes thinned into an almond shape—"this is a surprise. Wait, how are you?"

"I'm normal. I think."

"You sure? T—they didn't inject you with anything or—"

Sophia pushed away Marco's talon-hands before they ventured far around her exposed body. "I was too dizzy to notice much, honestly. But other than weak, I feel fine."

"You should get checked over."

"Could say the same about you. We'll have to wait until we get out of here, though. Figo's—"

"Of course there's no more Pentobarbital! Stupid Turtle Luck!"

Sophia turned with Marco towards the Splice Lab's entrance. Two figures dashed beyond it, blurs of muted color as the blonde tugged her ex's arm.

"He needs help," she said, willing strength into her bare legs. They wobbled under Marco's weight, but didn't fold like before. "Whatever that thing is, it has a lot of energy. Mikey can't hold out forever."

"My Shell."

"Your what?"

Marco paused by the doorway Sophia had approached with great difficulty then glanced around the kennels. "My bio-enhancement suit. The Shell. It—it may've been damaged in the attack, but it could still work."

"Won't a suit, like"—the heroine glossed over Marco's featured features—"hurt?"

"I have no idea how it might respond to"—the bird-man glanced down at his talon feet—" _these_."

"So I'll wear it. Did you see where they put it?"

"Y—you're too small for my belt, Sophie," Marco answered with a weak laugh. "It'd weigh you down."

"What about that second dresser over there? By the—the—the—?" Sophia couldn't bring herself to finish her question, even if the curled Bear-Hound made no noise. He stayed still, unlike the creature and mutant that dashed across the Kennel Lab.

"Any time, Hoshi!" Turtle Titan cried as he tossed something behind him. It hit the bear-bird monster with a dull 'thump', which riled another hiss-yelp. Its pace quickened. "The exit's right beside you. Pick door number one or two; I don't care!"

"Forget that shit; I'm _not_ leaving you behind, Figo!"

"So you have found another…"

' _Eh?_ ' Glancing towards Marco, Sophia strived for uprightness. The male's brow was eased for some reason, and he sighed as if a heavy burden had been lifted from his shoulders.

"Push him aside, Sophie." The bird-man gestured towards the man lying at their bare feet. "Look in the lowest cabinet beside the door. I think they put my belt there."

Soph did as told. She helped Marco lean against the doorjamb then gladly rolled the dark-haired scientist, satisfied with how hard his head hit the floor when she did do. Kneeling was easy, so she pulled out the cabinet drawer that was recessed into the space between the Splice Lab door and an open archway.

Scrubs? Nope. Boots? Nope. Underwear? Gross!

Growling, the blonde almost slammed the drawer shut. She was distracted partially by Turtle Titan's squeak in the chaos behind her, but a dark flash amidst the white caught her attention.

"Is this it?" she asked, raising a weighty belt with one hand.

"Perfect!" cheered Marco in Italian. "Now—"

Before Marco could finish, Sophia's attention diverted. His voice didn't register when Titan's cape caught on a protruding piece of metal from a damaged kennel. It faded under the monster's screech as it charged towards the hero on powerful bird and bear limbs. Her first instinct was to startle the creature, so she tossed the belt at its head then darted forward on uncooperative legs.

Its beak snapped shut, severing the cape from Figo's cowl. Of course, now she had its attention, and felt too weak to dodge its charge in time. Her arms crossed over her torso—it was the best defense she could muster when the monster rammed her. She landed on her back, breathless as its stub teeth sunk into her shoulder.

"Fuck!" she screamed. It strung so bad, tears threatened her eyes. But she would rather punch the thing's head instead. "Get off!"

"What the lady said!"

Sophia heard Titan's voice before she saw his arm. It sideswiped the monster with a force that both tore the blonde's flesh and sent the abomination whirling over the Bear-Hound's corpse into the kennel wall. Hissing, she glanced upwards, where the mutant stood with an outstretched hand.

His kindness isn't what shocked her. The so-called 'Shell' suit did. It covered Titan's entire firm, save his pale green face, and the shiny, protective plates it consisted of simulated muscles across his large form. Nice, defined muscles. It certainly looked badass—way better than his latex outfit from before.

"What'd I tell you about capes?" Soph questioned, shaking her head.

"All the best wear them," Turtle Titan muttered in return. He pulled her up with no effort then glanced at her bleeding shoulder with pained eyes. "Sorry, Hoshi."

"Forget it. You have the belt now. It should be easier to leave."

"Yeah, so long as Hun doesn't—"

 _Alert, alert! Alert, alert! All personnel respond to Deck Eight, Main-A immediately. Intruders in the Pods. I repeat: intruders in the Pods._

"Well, he lasted longer than expected," the mutant said. "But it's still alright if—"

Hiss!

Grimacing, Titan glanced over his shoulder at the monster that shook off his earlier attacked. "Oh, come on! What else can—?"

 _Lockdown to initiate in one hundred twenty seconds._

"Really, Universe?" Titan stomped his boots. "Really?"

"Michelangelo"—Marco's voice carried over the repeated warning from the PA system—"take Sophia. Head to the Directory Room."

"Which room?" The mutant approached the bird-man, who stood stronger than Sophia felt.

"The Main Directory Room," Marco added, lining himself beside Titan. They formed a barrier between the heroine and the monster; however, she knew better than to complain since an increasing sleepiness weighed on her eyelids. "You must've passed it on the way down. It's slender with several doorways and has a giant three painted at the back."

"You mean the Twinkie room?"

 _Lockdown in ninety seconds._

Marco sent the mutant an odd look then returned to his position once the creature squawked. "So long as you remember it."

"Been here before, Rizzo?" Titan spun for a tornado kick to the monster's deformed head, which dazed it for Marco's assault.

The bird-man punched its long throat and when it hacked, he stepped backwards so the hero could snap kick it across the lab. "Years ago," he added as the thing crushed a few kennels with its mass. "Before I left the EPF. So, go to the Main Directory. Place both hands against the wall panel between south-west doorways. A keypad will glow."

"Keypad?"

 _Lockdown in sixty seconds._

"Shit. Listen." Marco placed his talon-hands over Turtle Titan's shoulder plates. "It's Bishop's escape plan, an elevator to the top. Put in the pass code '728567', Savior."

The hero rolled his eyes. "That man's taste."

"Are you listening?"

"You sure the code will work? You did say it's been years."

"It's your best chance. Now, go."

"Marco!" Sophia blinked her heavy eyes, almost falling over when she stepped ahead. "You're coming, right?"

The bird-man pressed his pink lips together—an old habit. Wordless, he pushed Titan towards her until they collided then turned his back.

"Killing this thing could take ages, and you don't have the time," he noted. "Bring a scientist; you'll need their handprint."

"But—"

"Now!" Marco spun, shoving the duo towards the Kennels' entrance with surprising strength. "Come lockdown, you won't be able to enter the Directory Room—hand scan or not!"

Sophia glared at her ex then puffed her chest, meeting his black eyes. So what if he had pissed her off before? It didn't mean she was heartless enough to leave. She sidestepped to join his line-up against the monster and despite how slanted the room looked, she raised her fists.

"Go, Sophie. _Please_!"

The blonde was head-butted again. She never saw it coming. Then again, she saw very little through her new wave of dizziness. Her back hit something cold and hard, and she landed on the floor with a curdled stomach. Somewhere in the distance, another warning sounded. Or was that Marco and Titan arguing?

Soph blinked, their white and black figures spinning in her vision like a drunken Yin-Yang symbol. She sat up as Turtle Titan stepped back—at least, she thought she did. Her eyes still had a long way to lift when he neared her, and she never got the chance to question the argument's outcome.

Titan picked her up, along with another body already slung over his shoulder. Behind him, she caught Marco's warm smile until a metal door sealed off the lab. Then, all that sounded was an alarm and an animalistic screech.

* * *

Michelangelo fought Sophia all the way to The Island's top-most deck. He minded very little at first. Minutes of quarrelling over elevator buttons, though, delayed their escape.

"Stop it, Sophia!" he screamed through the tight space. He ensured the glowing arrow pointed upwards over the door, rather than down.

"He's a stronzo, but we can't leave him!" Sophia countered, reaching for the buttons again.

Mikey pinned her wrists at her slender sides. The task was easy, thanks to Marco's suit. "Even if we went back, we'd be trapped. I—I'm sorry; we can't help him."

"Figo—"

"He cares about you," the mutant interrupted with a pointed stare and tender tone. "A lot. And we agreed on one thing. We want you happy. You won't be if you get stuck here. I know that. So does he."

"I can save myself!" the blonde shot back, trembling. " _I'm_ the hero, _I_ save the day! No one needs to sacrifice for me. M—Marco…"

Slowly, tears leaked out as Sophia's face flushed. She disapproved of them, obviously, except her hands were still at her sides, held there by Michelangelo's firm fingers.

"Sometimes, you have no choice, Sophia. You can't always play the hero. So let me do so today."

"But we aren't saving everyone."

"No"—Mikey admitted the bitter truth with a tight chest—"but we're doing our best."

 _Ding!_

The moment the elevator doors slid open, sun rays filled the inside like a blinding searchlight. Michelangelo squinted, yet guided Sophia onto the helicopter pad beyond. Good, Hun's getaway copter was still there, idle.

The downside? He had no idea how to fly it.

"Sup?" he asked the pilot through the open backseat. "Any chance you wanna give us a lift?"

"Who the hell are you?"

"I'm getting asked all kinds of rude questions today."

"Look; Master Hun—gah!"

Suddenly, the pilot fell limp against the cockpit controls. Mike's eyes widened as something tore the gangster out the helicopter and he climbed through the doorway in time for Sophia to slide into the pilot's chair.

"Um, Hoshi?" he asked while settling into the co-pilot seat. "What are you doing?"

"Remember issue number fifty-six?"

The mutant had no doubt Hoshi meant the Madam Vermillion series, in which the heroine escaped a bomb explosion via helicopter. So the way Sophia flicked switches and toggles inside the cockpit like second-nature came as less of a surprise and more of a relief. He nodded as the engine geared up for takeoff then followed her lead when she pushed back her disarrayed hair with a gaudy headset.

"Hope we have enough fuel," she jested over the buzzing noise. "And that I can stay awake."

Well, Mikey hoped it had been a joke; the machine's busy propellers had already lifted it into the air and trailing EPF troops had started using them as target practice.

* * *

"Damn, Donny!" Raphael braced himself against the Half Shell's rubbery side, having again been unbalanced by wakes in New York's Lower Bay. "Thought ya said this ride was gunna be easy?"

"I said _easier_!" Donatello replied. The twin motors' close proximity almost drowned his voice out, but since he manned the rudder that was to be expected. "What's the SONAR say?"

"Still nothin'." With a growl, Raph hit the device set up in the boat's center. "All we're pickin' up are cargo ships! An' a…can this thing detect helicopters?"

"It's a SONAR, Raph!"

"So? The military has them in Jets, right?"

"Yeah, but it's not targeted at—" The genius cut himself off when his older brother hit the SONAR's frame again and the engine devolved into a subtle hum before a weight pushed the hothead's shoulder down. "Move."

"Pushy," Raph grumbled. But he sucked in a breath of salt-filled air and shifted, pointing at a slender neon shape moving fast across the SONAR's black screen. "See?"

"It's flying awfully low."

"An' comin' our way."

"We should be fine. If there's one up-side to the slight shake in my cloaking devices, it's that waves excuse it. But…" Donny narrowed his eyes. "The copter's not flying straight."

"Is it Mike on Hun's ride? Was he caught?"

"They couldn't have been flying this whole time. Fuel consumption—"

Ring, ring!

Raph dug for Donatello's Shell Cell in the duffle bag between them. Before it could start its second round of alerts, he slid it open, noting the ping that alerted Michelangelo's location on the SONAR.

"Ya better be alive, Doofus!" Raph cried into the receiver.

"Or else you'll kill me?" the idiot on the other end countered. He paused for his brother's scowl then chuckled—just for spite's sake, Raph knew it. "I'll tell you the thrilling tale when we get home. Sophia and I are heading there now."

"Since when did ya learn ta fly?"

"I'm not flying. Hoshi is."

The hothead stared at Don, eye ridges furrowed. "Where's Hun?"

"Back on the Island. Is Donny with you? If, uh, he could give us a good place to land, that'd be super awesome. Hopefully soon. Hoshi's a little groggy."

"I can handle it, Figo!" cried a distant voice.

"She keeps shaking her head. So, how about it, Dudes?"

"Got his location," Donny noted. "I can map then text him a route for landing. We'll have to make sure April or Blaine is there to pick them up."

Raph nodded at the Bō master, quite thrilled over the idea of leaving the unsteady Half Shell. "About time we got a break. Let's go home, guys..."

.

* * *

 **A/N:** And BREAK! Finally, eh? ;)


	51. Return

**Chapter 47:** **Return**

April's fingertips tapped across her laptop's keyboard—a continuous, repetitive tick that filled her otherwise silent apartment. Why did she bother? Melody's Shell Cell had been one of many that were handed over to Michelangelo before her group entered Oswald. Not to mention the frequency Donatello had her scan for was nowhere in range.

' _She's either jammed the signal or left Manhattan. Given the mess left behind? Maybe it's best for now._ '

The redhead glanced from the kitchen table into the living room. Leatherhead's massive form overwhelmed her sofa, but the stout leg he propped against the coffee table left a clear view of the television. Sound would be pointless for the current Channel Six News story; April could speculate what May Fields' over-voice commentary added to the aerial shots from the Earth Protection Force Headquarters.

The place was devastated. And catching an earlier segment revolved around Melody's assault on Hunt left the redhead leery about the raw power said cyborg harbored…

"Eep!"

April's chair scraped against the wood floor as she stood, straining to hear another yelp. A faint shuffle lured her upstairs and her pace quickened down the hallway when she noticed her bedroom and spare bedroom doors were open.

"Nia? Splinter? Kaiya?"

"K—Kaiya's asleep," a weak voice answered.

"Nia!" April rounded her bedroom doorframe, stopped only by the body collapsed beyond it. She withheld a sigh, glancing at Splinter wrapped snug in her bed, and then knelt to help the young woman. "You shouldn't be walking. I'll take you back to the spare—"

"Splinter," Nia whispered with her head ducked. "He's right there. I—I have to see—"

"He's recovering, Ni. Like you should be. Now"—the redhead settled the artist into a sitting position by the doorjamb—"how are _you_?"

"Fine."

April flashed a look when Nia started fiddling with her long, dark hair.

"Okay," the artist conceded. "Sore. Tired. Hot."

"And your ribs?"

Nia's hand twisted her hair—perhaps overwhelmed from the memory of Melody breaking them. "They feel normal."

"So they healed." April's tone was sour and since she couldn't care less if others knew about her disagreement with the cyborg's tactics, she frowned.

"I guess. It's my eye that stings, but— _ah_!"

"What?" April cried.

Her stomach jumped at Nia's high voice, yet settled as the younger woman held up her hands. Kinked strands of hair were tangled between her small fingers like she had used them as a brush in the shower. It seemed harmless until the redhead noticed the amount.

"Wh—why's my hair falling out?"

"It may be nothing. Stay calm." April turned around to switch on the ceiling light. While a poor substitute for sunlight, she searched Nia's hair anyway, holding up its frayed ends with a groan. "Honey?"

"I don't like 'honey's when they're said that way."

"Yeah, I'm sorry. Your hair looks like it was exposed to a dryer for a day. You're gunna have to cut it."

" _Cut_?" Nia spun so she fell on her butt and gawked.

"Don't cry."

"I've been growing it my whole life!"

"You might like it shorter."

"No!"

"Well, it's just gunna keep falling out otherwise." April smiled as the artist sniffled and raised hand towards her reddened cheek. "Maybe the shock at Oswald did this. That…that was surprising power."

Nia blanched. "Healed my ribs and fried my hair?"

"Ribs are more important. Maybe your IgRs can prioritize."

With a huff, Nia watched April's hand fall then slid the hairs off her hands. She began to ball them up, scowling, but stopped when her face twitched.

"You okay?" April asked.

Nia rubbed her left eye socket. "It's been bothering me ever since I got up. Must have something in it.

"Let me see." April lifted Nia's chin towards the light. "Look right."

Nia complied, albeit with a flinch. The tiny veins around her eye were swollen, so the irritation made sense. What confused April, though, was the dark shade of her iris.

"Nia."

"What _now_?

"Your left eye is brown."

"Brown?"

April crawled the short distance to her dresser then pulled a hand mirror off its top. She handed it over, watching for the artist's reaction. Nia fingers prodded the puffed flesh around her eye, pulling it up, down, and sideways as if that would make it blue-green again.

"My body's done weird things to me," said Nia, flat.

April chuckled..

"But—but not to Splinter-san, right? H—h—he's okay?"

" _You're_ okay," the redhead countered while taking back the mirror. "You just changed a little in appearance."

"What about everyone else? Why was Kaiya with me?"

"That's a matter we'll address when the others return."

"Return from what?" The ceiling light dimmed, flickered, then dimmed further. "Y—you mean Mikey and Raph? Where're they?"

"Ready to come home, I'm sure."

As if reiterating her point, the phone rang, returning brightness to the bedroom. April sent Nia a 'told-you-so' grin before standing. A cordless phone often loitered on the dresser, so she answered it after checking the caller ID.

"You guys have good news, I take it?"

"For once?" Raphael snorted and his voice sounded choppy from a high-pitched whine in the background. "Don 'n I are headin' back. Found Mikey. He's takin' a helicopter an' we need ya ta meet him, if you can."

"A helicopter? Since when does Mikey—"

"Pink's flyin' it."

"Pink?"

The hothead groaned, which caused April's eyebrow to quirk. "Forget it. Since Doofus has yer phone, Don's gunna email ya the address. I know ya can't hear us well."

"Yell louder; maybe I will."

There was a pause as Nia's head cocked. "Don wants ta know if ya've found Mel yet."

"No." April sighed. "She's off the grid. Sven, too."

"Kuso. Heard anythin' about Hugh at least?"

"He's at the hospital for his injuries, but"—the redhead grimaced, using the dresser's face as a brace—"everything's such a mess. We can only pray his testimony holds up."

"Yeah," answered Raph in a voice almost lost to the background noise. "He needs some relief. Poor guy deserves it."

"He certainly does."

"Alright; Don's tellin' me I need ta get off the line. Guess I'm responsible for keepin' him from landin' in Jersey."

When Donatello's garbled retort mixed with the background whine, April snickered, gaze set on Nia's curious, mis-matched eyes. "Boat safely, you two. We're gunna have one hell of a family meeting when you return. Meanwhile, I have someone here who can keep guard in my absence."

* * *

Hugh's heart had never beat as hard as when he laid eyes on Marina. Not when a molten heat separated his hand from his forearm. Not when Blaine said Doughnut was responsible for clearing his name. Not even when he heard Noah and Donna were still in surgery.

All those cases paled in comparison to the woman's pensive stare and he twisted in his hospital bed, shrugging a blanket up towards his neck. "Hey, Rina."

The tan beauty licked her lips, saying, "B—Blaine called me."

"Did you come alone?" When his wife nodded, the detective leaned back on his numerous pillows. "I don't like you being alone. Never know who's watching. Or what could happen."

"Blaine and Jen went to pick up Kaiya. And I—" Marina wrapped her arms around her stomach, a habit which made more sense now. "How's your hand?"

"No longer attached to my arm." With a light laugh, Hugh held up his bandaged limb and hoped the stub wouldn't scare the woman away. "I asked the doc if I could embalm it or something. You know, like a trophy? He said I'd have better luck pickling it, but wasn't sure if you'd want a jar hanging around the house. Can I pickle my hand, Rina?"

"Idiot." Annoyance and humor broke Marina's low voice into a tremble as she hugged herself tighter. "Always joking at the worst times. You know…the doctor told me you've been starved and your hand isn't your only injury. I mean, look at your face!"

"What's wrong with it?" Hugh beamed in spite of his bad fortune. Drugs prevented him from feeling much pain, although he knew from experience that the swelling looked terrible. Not to mention his missing canine tooth.

"Where's the Purple Dragon punk who did this? I'll return the favor."

"Huh?"

"It's what some officers and a few EPF students say happened. A Purple Dragon shot your hand when you were helping them out of a classroom, right?"

"I was shot at, but to tell the truth"—Hugh's voice grew softer—"I did this damage myself. My hand, that is."

"Why?" Thin brows lowered, Marina hunched her shoulders.

"I had no idea what Raph and the others planned," Hugh started. He rubbed his wrapped stub arm, using its ache as a mental anchor. "I just knew it was my chance to escape. This was the cost."

"It shouldn't have needed paid! You're innocent. Bishop had no right to deny you food, and whoever framed you—"

"Will be exposed, if Doughnut pulls through. I don't care what praise he gets, so long as I stay out of Bishop's hands. I prefer your hands anyway." Hugh sent the tanned woman a jovial smirk, which pierced her glower.

Faltering, she crossed her arms then stood straight. "The system didn't release you."

"Is that surprising?"

Obviously not, since she huffed. "I hoped it would…for a few days, at least. Not a good way to start off June."

"Tell me about it."

"What…what made you desperate enough to risk becoming a fugitive, though?" Marina's tone shook with her question. "If you weren't released to help defend the students like others say you were then…"

"I had to get out," whispered Hugh—a pained action. "Bishop was pushing me into a tight corner, but I wasn't going to betray any one."

"Like the Hamatos?"

"He was pressing me for information about them."

"I see…"

"No, you don't, Rina. Despite that, I didn't escape for _them_."

Marina glanced up. Perhaps his assured words struck her as odd. Or perhaps she found them unbelievable. Either way, she stayed quiet and tentative in her stare.

"I had to get out for _your_ sake," the detective added. "For _our_ future. For…" His eyes lowered to her chubby stomach. Rina backed up in an instant, mouth agape as she met her husband's gaze. "I need the truth, Marina. I need to know if this"—he gestured with his left arm—"was worth it. Are you…pregnant?"

"How?" The woman struggled for air and ran a hand through her unruly hair while Hugh remained steady.

"Please, Rina. Tell me."

Tears preceded Marina's soft croak. They hindered what little strength she had left, drowning her reply in stifles. She wiped her cheeks several times before trying again. And when her voice failed her a second time, she sighed then nodded.

The truth settled in as Rina neared the hospital bed. She seemed scared that Hugh would push her away or yell, but he lifted his right arm, welcoming her into the open space beside him.

"I—I—I didn't want to tell you," she said through sobs into his shoulder, "because I—I wanted you to pick family without feeling obligated."

"But I do have an obligation."

Her sobs increased.

"Rina." Hugh combed his fingers through the woman's hair, so the wiry strands weren't stuck to her wet face. "I get it. You wanted me home more. Not just for you, but for our son."

"Y—you know it's a boy?"

"I learned a lot in that cell…"

"It's in you to help and do good, Hugh. A—and you know I'm proud of you, right?"

Hugh closed his eyes at the heart-breaking whine in his wife's tone.

"I married one of the most selfless men on the planet. But in giving out to so many others, you ignore the ones who are by your side."

"You weren't ignored, Rina."

"That's what it _felt_ like!" Trembles strengthening, the woman added, "I felt trapped. I kept thinking if you had no time for me, what time would you have for a baby? Would you have the patience? Would you shift your focus? I—I—I tried so hard to see if you would on your own, with me as a reward, but…"

"Reward? What am I, a dog?" Hugh smirked, although Rina kept her head ducked. "I get lost in my work, I know. It's caused problems and that won't change. So…can we compromise?"

"Compromise for our child? Really?" Marina pulled back then puckered her lips. "You're unbelievable."

"So I've been told," Hugh countered with a smile. He hugged her close, despite her huff, and placed his arm stub on her stomach. The sight struck him like a punch; seeing what he lost next to what he gained was mindboggling. He also swore he felt her warmth below a palm that was no longer there. "Our lives have gotten complicated, Rina. If you're willing to adjust to that fact and return home, we can make this work."

"How complicated are we talking?"

Naturally, the tan beauty didn't skip a beat; she had probably assumed Hugh meant Bishop. So, resting his head against his wife's, Hugh rubbed Rina's belly. "More than I'm comfortable with. Still, we have allies who can help, if you accept them. And I promise: I'll do everything in my power to keep our son safe."

"You…you want him?"

"Of course."

"You sure you're ready?"

"Ready? Hell no. The idea still makes me want to hurl. But that's alright. What's another addition to the team? We're growing by the second."

"Team?"

"Okay; fine. Not team. We're more like a family, one that…I want you take part in it. You may not think it, but it's been horrible keeping you outside the loop. So…do you think there's any chance the Hamatos can be like the Williams to you?"

"All I ask is that I don't have to raise this boy alone."

"Don't worry," Hugh's smile rekindled as Marina snuggled closer, "this kid will get so much attention, you'll have to beat Mikey off with a stick."

.

* * *

 **A/N:** The healing process has begun. :D


	52. Parents

**A/N:** Merry Christmas! Happy Holidays! And New Year! All that jazz.

:D

* * *

 **Chapter 48:** **Parents**

Eight days had passed since the Gang War Uprise, since the Hamato Clan broke into Oswald Cybernetics to save Splinter. Still, Donatello found the cancer-free test results surreal, so he always double-checked them when they printed in the Lair's Lab—just in case his excitement deceived him.

"How long will you stare at those papers, my son?"

The Bō master smiled at Splinter's tone. Pain and frustration no longer darkened it, and its warmth came as a relief when he noted the four-foot figure standing beside his cluttered desk. "I feel like they're lying, Sensei," he said, "or that I'll miss something."

The mutant rat twitched his long whiskers. "You have screened me nearly a dozen times since I awoke. All results have been negative."

"It's crazy. Just last week you were…" Head shaking, Don leaned against his desktop from his swivel chair, pushing aside a few empty mugs. "You aren't catching up on your shows. The others won't like that very much."

"It does not go unnoticed how you watch me as well, Donatello." Splinter flashed a subtle grin, although lingering irritation remained in his stare.

"You…you _died_ , Otōsan. Any child would be worried."

"Parents worry for their children. It should not be the other way around."

"In this case, the parent didn't _have_ a solution for themselves, did they?"

There was no retort Splinter could justify himself with, so the older mutant resituated his shawl over his kimono, silent.

"Sorry, Sensei," Don grumbled. "I know I get grumpy when I'm tired, but lately…"

"Your program has not located Melody-san, has it?"

With a slow, agonizing sigh, Donny shook his head. "The Facial Recognition can run for an hour or so before issues arise. That's hardly time for a good search. Now I understand how Raph felt about Nia."

"Yes"—Splinter spoke in a taunt tone—"seems Anders-san has been quite the character this last month."

"At least with Raph, though, the separation was Gavin's fault. Not Nia's."

"What do you mean, my son?"

The purple-masked Chūnin turned away from his father's lowered brows, and focused on the disarrayed shelves around the Lab to ignore the prickle in his eyes. "Mel left. She hasn't even sent a text, not a single message to let me know how she's doing."

"Melody-san is a strong personality," the wizened rat added. "And so much destruction struck the city last Tuesday. I had trouble comprehending it all when I was shown the news segments, so it is vexing to imagine how she has processed the pain, Fall-san's…death."

"Y—you didn't see her _look_ , Sensei," whispered Donatello. The words trembled with his memory of the cyborg's reaction to Blaine's grim confession. "She screamed. I—it was like someone had reached into her chest and…"

"Losing a loved one is never easy. I mourn for her as well, wherever she is."

"She should be here." God, Don's shaking jaw was obnoxious, but also unavoidable. He sniffled, raking fingers over his face—as if the pain could eradicate the constant unease he kept buried inside his chest.

"She may be too scared to see you yet, Donatello."

"Scared of what? If she knows I couldn't bring myself to blame her for Leo, what makes her think I'll care she killed Hunt?"

"Perhaps she has heard news of Reese-san's comrades."

"Sh—she wasn't at fault for Noah and Donna. Kyle pushed them."

"And Nia-chan knows she cannot be held accountable for the criminals Bishop placed in her path. Yet it still weighs on her."

' _True; especially when the Hallow's Eve Demon name comes up. But_ …'

Donny brought his stinging eyes to his father. "The EPF recovered Tabitha's body from the bus crash. I read online that they were going to use her for research purposes."

"Did her parents sanction such a decision?"

"No; they were outraged."

"So the poor child cannot so much as rest in peace? Despicable."

"Someone else must've thought the same. Last I heard, her transport van went missing."

Intrigue curled Splinter's pink tail behind him and raised his slender chin. "Do you believe Melody-san is on a mission to perhaps give Fall-san the burial she deserves?"

"Considering Sven's still missing as well? It's likely."

"In that case, she should not be gone much longer."

"That's what I'm hoping, Sensei…" Don managed a grin to mirror his father's optimism. Surprisingly, it felt easy, since he did believe.

"Ya bug-eyed little bastard! Get back here!"

"Oh, great"—Donatello withheld a groan—"there goes Raph and Pez again."

Cue the stampede. Don faced the doorway in wait for the little creature he knew would scurry past. Soft grunts and clanks against the concrete traveled down the hallway before Nia's mutant pet entered, his black eyes bulging from his stub head. He sought sanctuary beneath Splinter's kimono like an escaped convict as Raphael stormed into the Lab with Nia and Michelangelo not far behind.

"Give it back, ya little freak!" Raph neared Splinter, but his wife and youngest brother fought against him.

"He's just playing, Raph!" Nia cried. She placed a hand against the hothead's cracked plastron, and Don did a double-take at the length of her hair when it swayed.

' _I've seen her with long hair so often that it's weird it only reaches her neck. Just one of the two things she has to show for that day…_ '

The other being her mismatched eyes, which soon fell on the genius. "Don, can you please get the sai out of Pez's mouth?"

Donny grew rigid, his voice squeaking. "Me?"

"He won't bite."

"He likes Pez candies more than blood, Donny," Mikey interjected with an impish smile. "Hence his name."

"Yeah, but—" The purple-masked Chūnin glanced downwards. Pez's armored head peaked out from below Splinter's kimono hem. Wedged in his dangerous overbite was Raph's sai, which he chewed casually despite the hothead's glare.

' _He always runs under Sensei's clothes…_ '

"Break another pair an' I swear I'll—"

Snap! Pez cut through the weapon in an apparent act of defiance, but his Piranha teeth didn't daunt Raphael.

"Nope; he's gotta go!"

"You have spares!" Nia pushed her full weight against her husband. It did no good; her Converse slid back as Raph advanced. "He's still in training, okay?"

"That _thing_ hates me, Ni," Raph countered, rotating the arm Mikey hung onto. "I swear; can't anyone have a _normal_ pet around here? Ya got this ornery little thing. Gray keeps rats in the freezers. An' then Mike takes in Pink's giant ass sp—spider ta keep it 'safe'."

"First off"—Michelangelo spun until he blocked his red-masked brother as Splinter whispered 'Rats?'—"I had Klunk before Nia and Hoshi came along. Secondly, all these animals are spectacular. Ya know…save the freezer rats. Those were a little disturbing."

Donny noticed his father grimace and thus sent him a reassuring smile, saying, "I—it was part of Mel's early development with Recro-12. I made her move them out of the family freezer."

"They were in _our_ freezer?"

"Can we get back on topic?" Raph sent both Splinter and Donatello a pointed look before gesturing with his wild eyes towards the round creature curled by Splinter's wooden cane and clawed foot.

"Manners come with time, my son," Splinter said. He remained motionless while gazing at Pez then chuckled. "I believe Pez-chan enjoys playing with you."

"He doesn't play," countered Raph, "he torments!"

"You, maybe," Mikey interjected. "Least Cuddles ain't afraid."

"How long are you going to keep that albino tarantula, anyway?" Donny's question silenced the Lab—far from his intent

Raph and Nia sent Mikey imploring looks; maybe they had been curious as well. But the youngest brother only shrugged, panting with a palm against his side. ' _Raph's ribs are obviously bothering him as well. Those two boneheads should be more mindful of their injuries._ '

"You have grown close with this Sophia Moretti, Michelangelo," Splinter started. "When will I meet her?"

"I—I don't know," Mikey answered in a quiet tone. "We haven't seen each other since we returned from The Island, after Ape picked us up."

"But you've texted some, right?"

The nunchaku master returned Nia's question with a sigh. "A bit. She made sure we stayed together until we checked her apartment and found out where her mom was taken. Then, of course, to give me Cuddles. Other than that, she said she needs to be with her mom and…think things over."

"Will she move?"

Mikey shrugged again yet wore a lopsided smile. "She has to get Cuddles back, right? I'll find out then. And if she takes too much longer, I'll track her down."

"Oi, stalkin's Don's specialty," Raphael noted with a grin.

The genius sent him a glare.

"Anyways, we have enough on our minds. Don, you've been hanging with April every night to run the Facial Recognition program. Sensei's cancer-free and back to watching shows. Nia and I are working on our comic. And Raph"—the youngest brother's smile grew—"Mia and Gavin are coming over tonight, right? Fun times."

In unison, Nia and Raphael blanched.

"As for little old me, I think I'm gunna visit Leatherhead."

"That sounds like a good idea, actually," Donny told Mikey. He disregarded the murmurs Raph and Nia exchanged, watching the orange-masked Chūnin back up. "Every time I call, he insists his tail isn't as bad as it seems. Give me a better report, will ya?"

"Can do, Donny-O!"

"Be careful, my son," Splinter called towards Mikey's retreating form.

"Likewise, Sensei. And don't worry; no secret patrolling for this turtle—way too many EPF goons Topside. Oh, and Raph?" There was a pause before Mike left. "Cuddles and Pez better be alive when I get back. Klunk, too."

That said, the Lab fell silent as Pez's snoring caught everyone's attention.

* * *

Although the street-corner café teemed with more noise than Sophia's headache cared for, denying food from her mother Adeline was impossible. Absolutely. Impossible. Italians ate well—no matter the circumstances—and the robust blonde seated on a bar stool beside her daughter was living proof.

"You were discharged this morning, Mum," Sophia noted, eyeing the way her mother gobbled down a piece of cherry pie.

"Hospital food is terrible, just terrible," the wiry-haired woman countered.

"You weren't starved."

"I disagree." Adeline held up a hand as if the very thought should be banished then relished in another bite from her mauled dish. "Try yours, Soph!"

Gaze lowing to the plated pie, Sophia soured. "No thanks."

"You've hardly eaten all week!"

"Those _things_ destroyed our home. I was kind'a responsible for putting you in a hospital, I've been fired, and, oh yeah, I had to leave Marco behind a _second_ time. Excuse my lack of appetite."

"Those are no excuses to stop eating!"

"Mum."

"What?"

"You're yelling."

At least they spoke in Italian, right? Adeline puffed her round cheeks, her pointed finger falling from Sophia's straight expression. She disregarded the café's surprised patrons, though, shoving another pie piece into her mouth as they returned to their mundane lives.

"I'm sorry," Sophia whispered towards the glossy bar top. "You were caught up in collateral again. Because of me. "

"A few stitches set me right," the older blonde said while chewing.

"After a long hospital stay."

Adeline swallowed. "That was for safety. Really, I'm fine."

"You were crying, Mum."

"Yes, but"—the woman brought her blue eyes to her frowning daughter—"I was crying for _you_."

"You should be angry. All that damage. All that…pain."

"Deep down, I knew a job and a move wouldn't keep you from your calling, Sophia. I had hoped it would, but…heroism is in your blood, isn't it?"

The slender blonde had no easy answer at the ready, so she averted her gaze to her untouched food.

"There are other ways to fight for justice. Without a mask."

"Can you imagine me as a lawyer or cop?"

"A lawyer could be fun. You're argumentative enough."

Sophia pressed her lips.

"As for a cop, I see trouble. You aren't disciplined enough."

"I'm disciplined fine! It's just…not my way. There are too many rules."

"And Madame Vermillion had no rules?"

"She had less Better ones."

"Wasn't one of them to always work alone?"

' _Should'a known this talk was coming,_ ' Sophia thought while scrunching her nose. ' _She's known the full story for a while…that doesn't mean she's okay with Figo and his family._ '

"Leave it to you to find mutants in New York." Soph knew a conscientious amount of care must've gone into Adeline's volume, so she hung on the woman's words, ignoring the radio and chatter from the café. "You never could attract anyone normal."

"Look who raised me."

"We'll be running from Bishop forever, won't we?"

The sudden question—no matter how soft—struck Sophia's gut. Jaw-slack, she brought her hands to her lap, squeezing them together. Adeline released a sigh and it was her intense stare at the last piece of pie that convinced Soph how troubled she felt after all.

"Even as Fishers, we're no longer safe."

"Don't say that, Mum," Sophia whispered, placing a palm on her parent's sloped shoulder. "I messed up. I'm sorry. I—I'll talk with Nom de Guerre. Find a new apartment. Anything to make up for what I've done."

"No matter where we are, you'd be destined to stand against that maniac. I can't tell you how proud that makes me. How proud…and how scared."

The aged hand that fluffed Soph's blunt bangs froze her in place, her calves tense against her cold bar stool.

"I told you from the start, I'd support you. Regardless of how many enemies you make or how dangerous, I won't change my mind."

"B—but…"

How could her mother smile? How could she sit there, fresh from the hospital, uprooted from another home, and not be upset? It confused the young woman every time they spoke about her illegal career.

"You're a hero, Sophia," Adeline continued. Her round face contorted like she wanted to cry, except her voice remained steady. "And what's done is done. Bishop will always want you—for spite's sake. So if we had more people on our side to keep vigilance…that would be a relief."

"D—do you mean it?"

"Yes." The older blonde grinned then stabbed her remaining pie piece with her fork. "It took some time to come to the conclusion, but"—Adeline stuffed the treat in her mouth like a ravenous animal—"I'm ready to meet these Hamatos."

* * *

The Lair's living room felt tense. Splinter hated that.

' _Not a weekend after I wake, and already another trial faces me. However…this one feels less daunting than cancer. Even if Raphael would disagree._ '

The old rat shifted up further in his armchair—still surprised by the lacking pain in his bones. They welcomed the movement, in fact, so he was free to note the mutant turtle fidgeting beside Nia on the sofa. Well, if his children would not address their guests that left matters up to him.

"Forgive the shaky introduction into our home, Misses Anders," Splinter said. "The elevator lift is not often used."

Across from them, in seats with backs towards the television wall, Misses and Mister Anders stared ahead.

"I've been through sketchier things, Splinter," the female countered.

Splinter's gaze fell on the brunette with a soft aura about her. She looked strong, despite the wheel-chair she occupied, and seemed to enjoy how uncomfortable Raphael looked.

' _She finds humor in his nervousness. At least one of them is at ease.'_

"I didn't even know you had a lift," Nia commented.

"Donny at least keeps it serviced," Raphael followed up. He sent subtle glances at the fine-dressed redhead who remained silent, arms crossed. Or maybe not so subtle; the creases in Gavin's brow grew deeper every time the Chūnin did so.

"I still can't get over how cute your new look is, Nia." Mia grinned and Splinter had a gut feeling she meant to break the increasing strain. "Your hair's only a little longer than mine now."

"I hate it," said Nia. Her finger tips ran over the blunt edge where her hair met her scarred collarbone then soured. "It's too much work keeping it from frizzing out. When it was long, it was weighed down. All it needed was brushed."

"It was worse when you were a kid."

"Stop trying to justify it, Mama. It still upsets me."

"Well," Mia's large smile weakened, "I'm thankful that was the only sacrifice you paid for what you went through."

"That and, uh, my eye," Nia added with a strangled laugh. She pointed towards her brown iris, clearly intent on brushing off the new gravity her mother brought. However, her Chi wavered like her fake joy.

Mia sensed as much. "Your father won't admit it, Ni, but we agreed to come here with a purpose. We must speak with you and Splinter and Raphael, face to face, so we can get a real answer."

"Real answer for what?" Raphael interjected.

Despite the rudeness, Mia subdued Gavin's budding snarl with a single touch then set her determined eyes on Splinter. "She kept a big truth from me. That hurt as both a parent and a friend."

"I—I didn't keep it to be mean, Mama." Nia's small voice hitched as she rose from the sofa, so Raphael caught her loose shirt's sleeve, his expression pained.

"Nia, please sit." Such gentle yet stern words; they made the artist comply without hesitation, a marvel Splinter wish he had mastery of in regards to his children.

"I understand the pain well, Misses Anders," Splinter followed up. "I had asked my sons to remain underground while their eldest brother is"—he almost hissed—"away. They disobeyed, though, and Michelangelo and Raphael set out as heroes in the city."

"We talked about that," said Raphael under his breath, head ducking.

"However," continued Splinter, "I know it is in their nature to help. Since they could not do so here, they sought usefulness elsewhere. Seems I have raised very stubborn sons."

"You're preaching to the choir." Chuckling, Mia tucked her straight brunette hair behind her ear then dabbed her lips with a cloth. "A parent's worst fear is losing their child," she added, far more tender. "When I heard what happened at Oswald, what Nia did, I…I admit it terrified me. She has such capabilities, but it wasn't until she met your family that those strengths came to light."

"She could've _died_!" Gavin interjected. His arms uncrossed to gesture at the sofa and a notable drawl gave the redhead a southern-like accent. "Me daughter threw herself into this situation without any bleedin' forethought! Feck me, it was a gamble!"

"A gamble, yes," said Mia before anyone else. "Had I been there, I may've even tried to stop her. But she was being a hero, Gav. Like you would've done, had she been in Splinter's role and you been in hers."

That much was truth. Otherwise, the man would not have relinquished his anger so easily. He returned to brooding, letting his wife continue the point she had started,

"Parents want what's best for their children. More often than naught, it's the children who make mistakes, though, and discover what they need in life. My Ni, she's been searching for that something for so long. I feared she'd never find it. Then…Bishop stormed our home.

"I fell asleep…to an image of my baby filled with fear. Funny thing is…my last thought came from the day before the fight. She had no answers and little aim, but the face I've looked into after my coma…was much livelier. Now, she wears a face filled with purpose, joy, comfort, and"—her brown eyes found Raphael—"love. I've welcomed the change. Gav has too."

The redhead snorted, so Mia's elbow jabbed him before she graced the Hamatos with a serene smile. "If that change is because of this family, I wanted to thank you. It pains me I wasn't part of the process, but I'll live."

"So what's yer question?"

"Raphael." Splinter sent his son a pointed stare, which sunk the Chūnin further in his seat.

"He can be antsy; it won't bother me, Splinter."

"That is not the point, Misses Anders."

"True." The woman raised her pointy chin. "Nia."

All went quiet as the young artist arched her back, her Chi trembling like a gentle wave through the living room. "Yes, Mama?"

"You put your life on the line for Splinter. I have never seen you fight so hard for anything before. That makes me proud."

"Th—thank you," whispered Nia.

"My world's been turned upside down. A life of aliens, mutants, vigilantes, cyborgs, and whatever else—it's a lot. But that's where life's taken you. So can you tell me, with full conviction, that _this_ is where your heart lies?"

"Yes." No uncertainty or waver. Not even a pause. Nia answered her mother's question with such a straight face, its intensity flicked every light inside the living room.

"Hear that, Gavin?" Mia asked, almost as if she had won a bet. Quiet, Gavin stood then headed for the kitchen. "Get me some water, too!"

"Yo—you're really okay with this, Mama?" Nia's gawk earned a brilliant grin when Mia faced her.

"Where your heart lies, mine does also. I'm just excited to know the people who've changed you so much."

"Not changed," Nia added. She spared Raphael a glance then touched her Yin-Yang necklace. "More like, they helped me grow."

Indeed. And it seemed more growth loomed in the Hamato Clan's horizon. Splinter just had to wonder…how much larger would their clan be by the time Leonardo returned…?


	53. Damage

**Chapter 49:** **Damage**

Hugh waltzed through his home's doorway that led from the kitchen into the living room. His right hand balanced an impressive tray, on which six mugs rested, and he sent a smile to each person seated amidst the modern furniture when they glanced his way.

"Hot coffees for all," he announced, placing the tray on a glass table that ran parallel with the three-cushion sofa. "All except for the baby, I mean. Here's your cocoa, Mikey."

Michelangelo reached over the backrest of the chair he sat backwards on then took the offered mug like a greedy child. "Thanks, Hugh!"

"Too bad Genius is stuck workin' a tech support shift," added Raphael from a second chair. He also sat backwards and nodded at Hugh before accepting a mug. "Ya said this was special African coffee?"

"Well, I find it special," Hugh answered while giving out mugs to Jennifer and Blaine. "It's a dark roast imported from Kenya. Got a real kick." With a snigger the detective watched Raph's face pucker as he swallowed his first sip.

"Y—ya dun't say," the red-masked mutant managed.

"I put milk and sugar in it, like asked."

Raph licked his mouth. "It's, uh, still bitter."

"It's coffee."

"An' I like the taste wit'out the bite."

"Is it that bad, Raphy Boy?"

"Shut up, Doofus."

"Dude"—Mikey leaned over in his chair to stare into his older brother's mug—"if it's that bitter, Donny would love it. Nia too."

The hothead shivered. "How can either 'a them stand it?"

"Apparently, we inherited the sweet-teeth in the family."

"Give me your coffee, Raph," said Hugh with an outstretched hand. "I'll add more sugar for the second baby."

"Oi!"

"Hugh." Marina's gentle address quelled her husband's grin, drawing attention to the figure furthest from him. She had been curled against the sofa's armrest by a large panel window, but now half-stood, gaze focused on the glass table.

"I got things handled," Hugh told her. "You worked hard for dinner, so I'll take care of the dessert coffees."

"But—"

"Don't worry; your decaf is right—ah, crap!" The detective fell on his butt when a sudden wet heat dripped onto his pants legs. He tried bracing himself with his hands, only to end up banging his left elbow against the wood floor when his weight shifted sideways.

"Hugh!"

"I'm good," the dark-skinned man said. He flashed a lopsided smile at his concerned wife when she abandoned the furniture, rubbing his tender elbow. "Sorry; I forget about this." Hugh held up his wrapped arm stub, which could be viewed since his dress shirt sleeves were rolled up. "Was wondering why I couldn't pick up your mug."

"I tried warning you, Idiot," Marina countered with a subtle frown.

"Let me get a towel."

"No"—the tan woman pushed down on her husband's shoulder before he rose from the ground—"I'll do it."

Hugh eyed Marina when she left for the kitchen. Although her footsteps were heavy, she also spared a smile over her shoulder prior to crossing the threshold. Regardless of what she said, the detective knew she enjoyed caring for him and thus beamed at his company.

"I think she's gotten bossier since I learned about Hugh Junior."

"You aren't naming your son Hugh Junior," said Jen flatly.

"For now I can."

"Blaine."

Blaine met the curly blonde's firm stare, pausing with his lips against his mug. "What's worse than 'Peanut'? Or 'Nugget'? Kai and Meg didn't have the most creative names when they were in your womb, either."

"But 'Junior'?"

"Until Rina and I find a name we agree on, that's what he'll be called."

Jen took a moment to sip her coffee then told Hugh, "No."

"Daddy Hugh." Mikey shook his head, playing with the short tails of his orange mask. "Congrats again on that."

Hugh rubbed his pants to help dry them. "Thanks. But Rina's the one doing most of the heavy lifting."

"You mean all of it?" Coarse fabric hit the detective in the face before he saw Marina, who enhanced her question by raising an eyebrow. She snorted, placed a sugar jar near Raph, and then started cleaning up the spilled coffee like a pro.

"When's the due date?" asked Michelangelo.

Stiffly, Marina faced the mutant, unease apparent yet not as crippling as weeks before. "Sometime in early November. Maybe a little later."

"Wouldn't it be great if he was born on Thanksgiving Day?"

The tan woman hunched her shoulders. "That's nearly two weeks after his due date."

"So? Think about it. You could double his birthday with lessons about humility and thankfulness. Perfect for a day where one is spoiled!"

Hugh joined in Mikey's laughter. "He wouldn't be without food, either."

"Considering how much you guys wolfed down during dinner, I'd be surprised if anything were left for the kid." Marina grumbled, although her movements were more relaxed. Having sopped up the coffee, she shoved the drenched hand towel into the empty mug then rose with some effort.

Hugh glanced up at her pop belly when she turned, smile wide. "It was too good to let it get cold. Right, Mikey? Raph?"

The two mutants grunted in unison.

"Besides"—Hugh's right hand caressed the woman's skin below her wool shirt—"it was a much needed distraction from where I came from this afternoon…"

"On the bright side, you got a Medal of Valor."

Even Michelangelo's chipper interjection failed to lift Hugh's spirit; he recalled standing between Doughnut and Bishop vividly, as well as how much stress the position brought along with it. "I wasn't the only one, though. And it was given for false reasons."

"Same could be said for the oddah pricks that shared the stage wit' ya," Raphael added. "Least yer's is justified, one way or anoddah. Not one person here will deny that."

"He's right, but…" Jennifer sighed as Hugh's hand fell from his wife. "I could barely watch the ceremony. There was so much pain to review, so much…damage."

"Just another mark in history," Blaine noted, gripping his mug against his knee. "New York's been acquiring a lot of those over the last year. The Hallow's Eve Demon, the Little Red Robberies, and now, the Gang War Uprise of Twenty-Twelve.

"An' good old Turtle Luck made sure we were involved in every event," spat Raph. He outright dumped some sugar into his mug then stirred its contents with pressed lips.

"Turtle Luck?" Marina questioned.

"That's what Raph here calls our family's"—Mikey shrugged—"fortune? Sometimes it can be good. Most of the time, though, it's bad. Really, really bad."

"I think _everyone_ had a case of bad luck this month," Blaine noted in a bleak tone.

"Some more so than others," Rina added while running her fingers through the tight curls on Hugh's head.

"I feel fortunate," said Hugh. He earned a few surprised stares and even one perplexed one. Nevertheless, he smiled. "Yeah, I sort'a went through hell. I'm sore as shit, I look like a Hockey player, and my hand's gone. That all beats being dead or stuck in Bishop's cell. Or even being in Donna's and Noah's shoes."

"Are they still…?" Michelangelo prodded Hugh for confirmation just by frowning.

"It's been over a week, but their states remain critical. They're in and out of ICU. It's…no one can say what might happen."

"Fucking Kyle." Blaine's heated whisper carried through the tense silence, forcing his best friend to rub his arm stub to keep grim memories at bay.

"We weren't the only ones screwed over," he said. "Damien has to deal with both Kenneth and Jezebel. They won't leave home because all the lingering gang battles erupting. Then there's…Tabitha."

A groan sounded—Blaine's wounded cry. His face met his large palm when Hugh glanced towards the sofa and Jennifer let him lean against her shoulder without qualm.

"Not sure if you watched the news, Blaine," Hugh noted, fist clenched, "but you know she was honored as a hero, right?"

"Nineteen, Hugh," whispered Blaine against Jen. "A _kid_."

"Th—they set up a statue for her, didn't they?"

Sending Mikey a solemn nod, Hugh answered, "At Union Square Park. That's where the ceremony took place."

"Like some bronze artwork will make up for what happened," Blaine hissed.

"Bishop didn't commission it for compensation," Hugh countered, finding comfort beside Marina's sturdy legs. "Too many witnesses knew Hunt was on Unfinished Bridge. They saw what happened with Pierce, too. She was a casualty of their assault, no way around it. So Bishop's paying it off as if Tabi worked for him, and willingly gave herself for their cause…"

"Everyone's weavin' stories nowadays, ain't they?" Raphael asked with a snarl.

Blaine inhaled while the mutant sucked down the last of his drink then met the group with a wounded look. "In the line of duty, I've watched people die. Their faces will never be as memorable as Tabitha's. She was so sweaty and fatigued and pained, but she smiled"—the blonde's voice turned breathy—" _smiled_ as the life left eyes. She said to tell Melody she found 'it'. 'It was with helping others'. That made her happy…"

Creak. Michelangelo and Raphael stood from their chairs in a moment's notice, perhaps a little on edge from previous events. But Hugh knew to wave them down before looking behind; creaking boards were common whenever Megan and Kaiya stayed overnight at his home.

"Kai, Baby," Jen said, "you should be sleep."

The seven-year-old tugged at her black nightgown, avoiding eye contact with everyone. "I—I was…then…then the thunder scared me. I started thinking about Hall F and..."

"Thunder?" Raphael followed his brother to the large window, peeking beyond its closed curtains. "Well, what do ya know?"

"The weatherman never mentioned this," the younger Hamato whined. "Bogus!"

"Come on"—Jen set her mug on the glass table and stood—"I'll stay in bed with you."

The willowy blonde reached for her daughter after passing Hugh. The child backed way. Her golden eyes remained fixed on the wood floor, even when her mother tried a second time. It wasn't until she glanced up that Hugh caught a haunting sorrow behind them—accentuated by a faint cry from the storm.

"Kaiya?" he asked.

"I just meant to stop the bus," she whispered.

Seven simple words. Who knew they could open a flood gate of pain for an entire group? It popped the tension that had bubbled around them, as if the lightening outside had struck it, and Hugh was nearly run over by three bodies that barreled by him.

"I—I—I only wanted to help," Kaiya continued through trembling lips. Jen's hand soothed her disarrayed hair. It did little good. Kai's pale face was growing redder by the second. "The bus was my fault."

"No, Dudette," Michelangelo added from behind her. He rested a hand on her shoulder, his voice gentle. "You were really brave. You _fought_ the bad guy."

"And lost!" Spinning, Kai graced the mutant with an expression Hugh couldn't see. "I got my whole class hurt! And Miss Tabi"—the girl hicked, her fists quivering at her sides—"she couldn't leave. H—her boots…She…"

"Kaiya." Stern and deep, Blaine's voice earned his child's attention. Her profile, from what Hugh could tell, scrunched from holding back tears, and she sniffled as his hands pulled her arms towards his bent knee. "Had you not acted, your class could've been hurt a lot worse. Pierce would've sacrificed you, but what you did made sure he didn't get that chance. I"—he swallowed—"I hate how you were there to begin with, but I'm also glad you were."

"You did more good than that loser teacher who bailed," Mikey noted.

Blaine sent him a glare then returned to Kaiya when her jaw tensed.

"H—how could he do that?" she questioned. "He was the grown-up and he—he _left_ us!"

Blaine fluffed her short, wavy hair (although Hugh was well-aware the man would rather punch the aforementioned teacher). "You may think bravery comes naturally, Kai. It doesn't. Tabi was special. Like you. You both put your lives on the line for everyone in that bus. The idea still scares me like hell, but I—I'm proud of you."

"Me too," Hugh said. "You had every reason to jump ship. Instead, you stayed. In fact, hold that thought."

The detective lifted himself off the ground, partially because Kaiya's tears moved him and partially so he could reach the coat rack in the corner beside the flat screen television. His only hand dug into his formal uniform's pockets until his fingers brushed the textured metal of a medallion. With a small smile, he pulled it out then detangled the thick ribbon as he knelt before Kaiya, ignoring all other gazes.

"Listen up: I, Hugh Mosi Reese, am here today to acknowledge a remarkable individual," he started in an 'official' police manner. "This youngster, Kaiya Lee Williams, has exceeded her call of duty in trying times. On June twelfth, twenty-twelve, she proved herself not a victim, but a hero—someone who knew what needed done and had the bravery to back her up. So."

Kaiya's glossy eyes almost choked Hugh with their intensity, yet he recovered from his pause after a hard swallow. He puffed his chest then slipped the ribbon necklace over her head (an awkward feat, considering he only had one hand).

"I award this Medal of Valor to her. May there be more kids like her in the future. I know for damn sure I want my son to be just as strong."

Kaiya had no words left, only tears. Her red face so pained over what she should feel that she fell into the detective's arms, so he hugged her as she sobbed, pulling her into his lap while the storm outside raged on.

Hell; she deserved the medal more than him. And maybe everyone agreed, since no one said another word for a long time.

* * *

"Man, this weather sure is matching my mood," Michelangelo noted. He reached his arms behind his head, staring up at pitch-black skies while his older brother followed.

"Least the rain broke for a moment," Raphael added. "Better make this quick, Mike; Nia's comin' back from Warner-Frost soon."

"Come on, Raphy. I know you wanna see it too."

"Why? So we can make ourselves more depressed?"

"After what happened with Kai at Hugh's, I need a walk. Besides, the park's closed. We should be fine."

"But knowin' our luck, Fall's statue will be a trap."

Mikey sent a glare over his shoulder, although he doubted its gravity reached the hothead, regardless of the few bulbous lampposts around them. He let the matter slide, however, only because they had reached their destination—a circular grass area with sporadic trees, low iron fences, and pathways.

It lacked sufficient coverage for a ninja, so Mikey maintained vigilance as he and Raph past the George Washington Monument. They followed the cobble road up to the park's center, feet cold against the wet stone. There, they halted at a decorative intersection.

"What'd I tell ya?" Raph asked, low. "Turtle Luck."

"Look at the cloak," Mikey retorted, squinting at the deep red that pooled around a seated figure. "Isn't it familiar? Like…The Little Red Robberies. That's must be Mel!"

"Hold it!" A sudden grip forced Michelangelo back. "How would she get her cloak if it's at the Lair?"

"Maybe it's not _hers_." The youngest's glare translated then and it loosened his brother's hold. Of course Raph didn't believe him, but he approached the figure alongside Mikey, who called out, "Melody? That's you, isn't it? If not you then Sven, but I get the feeling…it's you."

The hooded figure stayed silent, curled before the bronze statue that loomed in the park's center-most grass section.

"Everyone's been worried," the orange-masked Chūnin continued. "Especially Donny and Nia. Why haven't you come home?"

One more step placed the mutants at the figure's side. The brothers exchanged a look under a lamppost before Mikey knelt in a water puddle to reach for the red hood's brim. His fingers never touched it; the figure's head twisted, revealing such a horrific sight, it sank his stomach like an anchor.

"Holy shit," whispered Raph above his brother's head.

"Raph!"

"What?" The hothead's eyes glanced downwards then resettled on Melody. "She looks horrible."

"Funny," the cyborg said—a faint, hoarse, dead action. It mirrored her puffy, bloodshot eye, flush cheeks, and bruises all too well, so Mikey sat beside her—pained not by the chilled water, but by the words she continued with, "That's exactly how I feel…"

"How long have you been here? Obviously a while; you're drenched. I'd offer a jacket, but"—he smiled—"it's summer."

Not a twitch or slight eye movement. Not even a snort. Melody always snorted at his jokes! Sighing, Michelangelo looked up at the grand statue that stole the cyborg's attention. A low position made the dynamic flying pose seem much grander, and his focus lingered on Tabitha's serious expression since it was a hauntingly accurate representation.

"The artist must've gotten pictures from Tabi's parents," said Mikey. "Or maybe they based it off footage from the news. Channel Six got good shots. I mean, uh…Mel?"

Melody continued staring, as if she and Tabi were locked in a contest.

"Do we gotta drag yer ass back home, Gray?" Raph squatted to the duo's level. "Don's been losin' his shit an' I'm tired of it."

"What Raphy _means_ is that we were scared you may've been captured or something. Not contacting us was kind'a mean, don't you think?"

"I had no idea…what I was doing."

Mikey popped his ears, just for good measure since Melody's voice left her lips near a whisper. "What do you mean?"

A long pause followed until the cyborg's gaze fell to the plaque bolted onto the statue's concrete base. "When Mom died…I had so much anger, so much pain. It was overwhelming, so"—she brought her dirty hands together, squeezing them—"I took it out on Purple Dragons. Again and again, every night for years, just looking for someone to hurt. That's how their hate for me started."

"Mel—"

Melody held her hands against her stomach, hunched as she added, "I don't know where else to direct it. Th—thought I could do the same now. But even though I buried her a—and beaten every EPF bastard I've come across"—the cloak's hood trembled as wheezy whimper wore on Mel's tone—"it hasn't made a difference. The pain's not going away, and I—I—I don't know what to do. I'm so lost. What do I do?"

Below the hood brim's shadow, Melody gawked. She no longer held control over her emotions and Michelangelo sensed she wanted to cling onto someone—anyone. Her arms were frozen in place, though. Perhaps because she had grown so weak over the last several days. Or maybe she felt too sick to move.

"The pain of losing someone doesn't ever go away, Melody," Mikey started. "When you think about your mom, doesn't it hurt?"

"Nice pep-talk, Shell-for-Brains."

Mikey sent Raph a sour look then returned to the sniffling cyborg. "What you gotta do is come to terms with it. A—accept that Tabi's gone and…know your pain can only become bearable if you lean on others' love."

Here, the youngest Chunin rested a hand on his sister's damp knee, although her gaze remained unfocused when he continued. "We're here for you, Mel. We want you home, so all that pain can be carried _together_. It's the only way to make it through."

"You know," Mel whispered so absently, she sounded like a puppet, "I didn't start feeling better about Mom's death until…until I met Tabitha. That night, she was being initiated into the PDs and I was having a rough day. I remember her saying a punch could never hurt, she'd been through worse. I caught her eyes then…and in a moment, I understood what she meant.

"Sh—she felt alone, like she had no place. So I said 'If you want a home, I know where one is.'"

"She took you up on it?"

The cyborg nodded under Mikey's light smile. "I introduced her to Baker's. She met Sven. And the two of them"—she laughed pitifully—"wouldn't leave me alone. They gave me direction. Through them, I learned that helping others felt much better than punching Dragons. Of course, I never stopped. But at least when my fists met their face, it was with purpose."

"To protect the homeless…" Trailing off left the mutant with a pit in his stomach, which sunk further with every labored breath Melody's battered body drew.

"Here I was thinking they'd always be there," she said through tears. "I—I—I pushed them aside when I was working through Splinter's cancer. Thought I'd—I'd have time, that I'd help them find where they felt most-wanted, and now…"

She couldn't continue. Not that a conclusion was necessary. Mikey knew how she felt and for the first time ever, she was pliable against his lead. His arms captured her damp form, his chin resting atop her hood as she buried her face into his collarbone. Raph brushed off his brother's invitation for all of a second before succumbing. Silent, he knelt behind Melody and when he placed a hand against her back, her sobs turned into a wail that racked her curled figure.

"Bl—Blaine wanted me to tell you something," Mikey noted between her gasps for air. "He was there for her final words. Tabi said she found it. Her place, my guess. She said"—he struggled to keep his voice steady—"she said it was with helping others. That made her happy...She was _happy_ , Mel."

Mikey's closed throat ensured he spoke no more. But what more needed said? So, he kept a firm grip on Melody, watching Raphael stand.

"Come on," the hothead muttered, "let's get outta this depressin' place. I've seen enough damage…"


	54. Scars

**Chapter 50:** **Scars**

While in bed, Raphael ran his three fingers through Nia's shoulder-length hair, detangling knots. It was a mindless action, one which kept him calm enough where he could listen to the breaths of his wife without imagining how he'd almost lost her. Again.

"Raph?" Nia asked, voice laden with sleep. Her head shifted along her husband's shoulder, though he wouldn't meet her mismatched eyes. "Raph?"

"Didn't mean ta wake ya," Raph countered as she yawned.

"What time is it?"

"Around three."

"Morning?"

"Afternoon."

"Oh…Sorry; I tried staying awake until you came home from Hugh's."

"Ya got every reason ta wanna sleep. It's alright."

"How'd your visit go?" The artist peered up through her bangs with a half-brown-half-teal stare Raph admitted still seemed foreign.

"Good until the end," he answered in a low tone. "Kaiya woke up when we were talkin' about Tabitha an'…well, she blames herself. Thinks if the bus never rolled, Tabi would be alive."

"If it hadn't, it's possible all the kids inside would've been shot, used as Pierce's decoys throughout the War Zone."

"That's what we keep tellin' her. But the kid's too much like Leo."

"Feels responsible even when she isn't?"

"Bingo."

Nia sighed then resituated her cheek so it rested against the mutant's thick bicep. "Wish I could've been there as support."

"Warner-Frost has been keepin' ya busy. _I_ hardly have time wit' ya."

"I know. Irma gave me some leeway due to my Anemia. But she really wants the mural done."

"Ain't it close?"

"Sort'a. Then she wants another."

"Really?" Eye ridge raised, Raph sent his sheepish wife a pout. "Where do I fit inta this picture?"

"I like working." Nia's hand rose then brushed his long jaw line with her fingertips. He was pleased to note her nails were no longer yellowish. "It's therapeutic."

"I can be therapeutic." A feral growl rumbled from the mutant's throat as his hand traveled from her hip to her chest, and his smirk grew when a blush reddened Nia's otherwise pale face.

"Be serious."

"I _am_."

The artist returned his wandering hand to her hip then flashed a look that soon melted into a calmer expression. "Ever since Oswald, painting's been easier. I—I'm not as stressed, even when Miss Heart complains."

"Ya could be not-stressed here, too," the Sai master grumbled. He earned a smile, which lightened his mood, if only slightly.

"True. Mama and Daddy's visit went well. I'm so happy she's accepted you guys."

Thank God one of the Anders was on his side, right?

"And you know something else?" Raph paused, so Nia was prompted to finish her statement. "I haven't had a nightmare in over a week. Y—you'd think I would, considering, but…I haven't."

"Good. I want ya thinkin' about October about as much I wanna think about…July."

A silence followed—one which locked the couple's gaze until Nia glanced away. She looked down at her colorful tights above the sheets, touching her covered toes against a pale green mark atop the mutant's left foot. It rested there, barely spanning from his ankle to his toe knuckles, before she drew in a short breath,

"I—I've never asked before, but is this…?"

Raphael could no longer see the round mark, but its general existence left him with a sour gut. "Where I was shot. Yeah."

"When the Summers…"

"It's just anoddah scar. We've gained quite the collection, haven't we?"

"They don't have to be bad things."

"What do ya mean?"

Feet forgotten, Nia glanced back up at her husband then wrapped an arm around his muscular neck. "E—every time we look at our scars, we think of pain, when they can represent more. I—I don't know about you, but I want to start seeing them in a different light."

"How so?"

"Like…why don't we point out scars on each other then name the positive things they mean?"

The hothead almost laughed. "I ain't sure what good ya can find in my scars, Shuǐ."

Even so, Nia looked unfazed by his pessimism and stroked his foot with her hers again. "This gun shot. It shouldn't signify loss, but let everyone know h—how big and courageous your heart is. It's proof that you were ready to die yourself for a stranger, a mother. It's shows heroism."

"Like this." Raph run a thumb over the inch-long indent inside Nia's right arm. To think it was still there after Oswald. How odd.

"Where I gave tissue samples," the artist croaked.

"An' yet it dun't hold a candle ta reality. This"—this mutant hissed under his breath—"this is a small glimpse 'a yer sacrifice. It was the start, an' shows how far yer willin' ta go for family."

"I learned from the best, Huǒ. Here"—Nia's eyes glossed over, the bedroom's subtle light dimming as her fingers traced the bubbly lines over Raph's right eye—"you got this from Pierce. Leo was taken, suffering, and you wouldn't let anything stop you, no matter the odds."

"Damn thing still acts up sometimes." The hothead flashed a short-lived smirk, turning solemn when his wife's hand landed on his cracked plastron scute.

"My rat bites aren't nearly as uplifting…everything else, though? E—even my burn. They can mean something good."

' _She's sure got a unique way 'a lookin' at things_ ,' thought Raphael with a smile.

It was part of the reason he loved her so much, and that love longed for action. Placing a hand behind Nia's head, he drew her lips towards his. The kiss was soft, sensual, but he made it last until a tingling warmth filled his whole body—even if her morning breath lacked charm.

"Um"—Raph relished in how Nia floundered for words—"wh—what time is it again?"

"Probably more near four now. Why?"

"We—we're, uh, having a dinner tonight. Remember?" Nia must've read through the hothead's blank stare since she huffed. "Sonya, er, Sophia called Mikey-niichan, remember? She wanted to meet everyone. Officially. Her and her mom."

"More 'meet the parents' joy." Raph's flat tone earned a poke at his shoulder.

"My parents and April-anechan are coming too. Everyone figured we might as well."

"So what does that bring the guest list up ta?"

"Let's see." The artist began counting with her fingers. "Me, you, Splinter-san, Mikey-niichan, April-anechan, Sophia-san—"

"Ya're really inta the honorifics, ain't ya?"

With half-lidded brown and teal eyes, Nia countered Raph's smirk by snorting. "It's practice for when Leo comes back. Now stop distracting me. There's also Mama, Daddy, Sophia's mom, and Donny-niichan. So, like, ten."

"Eleven."

"Huh?"

The pale human blinked as Raphael's massive arms wrapped around her, a precautionary measure for when he continued, "Last night, Mike 'n I ran inta Melody."

" _What_?"

"Will ya—stop! Give her some breathin' room, will ya?" Nia ceased squirming, if only because her husband kept her pinned along the unmade bed. She looked up with a curious gaze, which grew worried as the seconds passed. "She was a mess when we found her, Ni. Cried herself ta sleep in my arms on the way home."

"You carried her?"

"It was a feat. Trust me; she ain't light. But Mike's side didn't need the stress an'…she was too weak ta walk on her own."

"How is she now? Where is she?"

"Where do ya think? Don hasn't let her out 'a his sight."

"Has she said anything about where she's been?"

"Some stuff, but"—the mutant's tone turned grim—"let's not talk about it. I'm sure she'll confide in ya. Later. How about we get ready for dinner instead? Bet Mikey's stoked."

"True," Nia conceded, sitting upright alongside Raph. "Fine. Let's go see if he's started cooking. Pez will love to help."

Pez? Feh! Raph grimaced, yet said nothing as his wife smiled.

* * *

Donatello knew the figure buried below three comforters wouldn't be easily persuaded—especially since so many people were arriving for dinner. Heck, even from his second-story bedroom, he could hear the bustle downstairs and Mikey's guests were still in route.

' _She rarely covers herself so much,_ ' the genius thought. ' _When she came home, she was super heated from the pent up ions. But no matter how many we discharged, she shouldn't be comfortable enough to stay here…_ '

"Mel," he addressed through the dark room. No motion. "Mel, please. Sensei wants to see you."

"I don't want to see anybody," said a feeble voice below the blankets. Was that really Melody?

The mutant frowned, inching closer towards his wife. "Just give it a chance. A break from"—Don paused—" _this_ could make you feel better."

"Doubtful."

"Is that what you believed when my brothers brought you home?"

Melody's legs drew closer towards her chest; Don could tell by the moving lump beside him.

"Wanna talk about where you've been this past week?" Only a stale stillness reigned throughout the bedroom, so Donny gave into the sigh he had been withholding. "Mel—"

"I was with Sven…" Melody spoke so softly, her husband needed a moment to process her statement.

"The whole time?"

Michelangelo's laugh sounded faint in the background then faded when the cyborg finally continued, "After Hunt…I—I—I couldn't even think about facing you."

"Raph had a point about that," admitted Don, toneless. "There're some things you just can't hold back. It was your reaction, Melody, like someone yelling when their foot's stomped on."

"I did more than yell…"

"Even before your…change, you reacted to pain violently. It was expected and I don't blame you for it. You did make Channel Six News, though."

"What kind of…? Did they see…?"

"You haven't watched any TV?"

The lump shook near the pillows.

"Their footage, uh—" What would be the right word? "It was recorded from a distance and you guys moved too fast for a clear focus on anything defining, like a face. Leatherhead's exposed, though. And the EPF are claiming you as a rouge cyborg."

"Like some rabid dog?"

"In a way? Speaking of LH, you should visit him. He's been eager to know how you're holding up."

"I caused trouble for him, too."

"Everything was trouble that day."

"How's his tail?"

Don flashed a smile, even if the darkness and covers prevented Melody from seeing it. "If you visit, you'll know."

A huff sounded—a short action, muffled by the thick barrier Mel insisted she keep up.

"Where's Sven now? He wasn't there when my brothers found you."

"He…he went home. I hope."

"Hope? Can't you confirm by—"

"We closed the frequency."

"Oh? Why?"

"It—it's too much right now," Mel whispered through trembling words. "We…we can't. It's too…it's too quiet without Tabi…"

Don longed to hold his wife arms. But she wasn't ready. She sniffled, hissed, and the mutant could do nothing more than clench his hands together.

"I—I'm _so_ sorry, Melody," he said. "I know it's the typical thing everyone says, but—"

"I get what you mean, Damn Mechanic." The blankets rose with the cyborg's deep inhale, yet didn't ease as smoothly when she added, "We couldn't stay after Hunt self-destructed. We made sure you all were alive a—a—and watched you pile into the Battle Shell. Then we left."

"Where'd you go?"

"Anywhere vacant."

"That's vague."

Mel scoffed in response to Don's dry tone. "It's not important. We stayed there until we learned what the EPF planned for Tabitha's body."

"How'd you find that out?"

"Sven. His brain is more capable than you think…"

"So…Did you have anything to do with Bishop's van disappearing?"

While curt, his question held weight. It pushed down on the dark room like a concrete slab, crushing the mutant, and he hunched by the time his wife answered.

"They were going to _butcher_ her, Don," she said in a hoarse, strangled tone. "Butcher, dissect, and study for their own sakes—so they could make more Hunts. I…I couldn't let that happen!"

"I'm not disappointed, Melody." Resting a hand over the covers where his wife's feet remained curled, the mutant straightened. "Hunt needed destroyed, one way or another. And Tabi"—his hand pressed harder as Melody's emotions rocked the bed—"she deserved better."

"So much better." Mel sniffled and the next words left her in a heated whisper, "We jumped the van. I crushed it, set it on fire, and then crushed it some more. Didn't stop until a metal ball was left."

Donny had a distinct feeling that below the blankets, his wife clenched her robotic fists in remembrance of the attack. However, the anger passed in seconds, much like most of her emotions nowadays. Controlled once again, the bed ceased shaking as the cyborg's voice turned stony,

"We…we wanted her parents to see her, for a goodbye. But…the damage from the bus falling on her was"—Mel made a garbled sound, like she wanted to hurl—"God, it was terrible. I—I didn't want that to be the last image in their mind of her…

"She'd always talked about leaving New York, about mountains and fresh air. Visiting Casey's farmhouse was an experience. You should've seen how elated she was over the simplest things, like plants or all the animals. So, Sven and I traveled. We brought her to a place surrounded by grass and trees and"—a subtle softness touched the cyborg's tone—"we buried her where the damn EPF will never find her."

Donatello had no question about where Melody had meant. "You took her to Massachusetts."

"I had no permission, but…"

"Did you think April would say no in Casey's place? Tabi was your sister, Mel. Ape isn't heartless."

"No. She just doesn't like me."

"And you dislike her for not liking you. It's a vicious circle. Still, you didn't have to do all of that alone."

"I wasn't alone."

"You were when we found you."

"Sven needed time away. He's taking it harder than me."

"Than _you_?" Don caved into his smirk, letting the light tease reign. He sensed it went unappreciated even before Melody said,

"He can't cry, Donatello."

The full name alone would've been enough to make the mutant cringe. Add that atop the frustrated rage bubbling beneath his wife's tone and it downright killed his relief with a figurative stake through his heart.

"The hormones he should release, he can't," the cyborg followed up. "Stephens ensured as much. All…all he can do is scream… _Scream_. D—Donny."

From fuming to whimpering at a moment's notice, the sudden change dug the stake further into Donatello's chest. Enough was enough. He could see well enough in the dark bedroom and no longer held back from pulling the comforters away from Melody's head. She put up no fight—a testament to her weak state, like her anguished expression and wide eye that was underlined by days of sleeplessness. She maintained composure for a whole second. Then, her dam broke.

Tears flooded as Donatello gathered her in his arms. She trembled against his long plastron, hot from residual heat, and he never once thought to reprimand her for the awkward whines and sniffles she released beside his head.

"E—e—even when he couldn't talk anymore, he still screamed," she sobbed out. "I had to be there. That isn't something everyone could understand. And it's hard. He—he needed me."

Don held onto Mel tighter, saying, "Okay, okay. I get it. And you helped him. He's on his way home now, to be with his brother and father. It's time you did likewise. Your wounds won't heal alone. They need help, they need family."

"Wounds like this leave scars."

"Naturally. You'll never forget Tabi, and she'll never mean less to you. But I won't sit back and let grief eat you up. I'd rather risk more knuckle indents in my cheek." The cyborg chuckled—a weak, slow act that could've easily been overlooked had Donny not been so close. "Mourning isn't passive. It's active and the only way to conquer it is to surround yourself in love, so you can accept it. Eventually."

"You sound like a brochure, Damn Mechanic."

"Well"—the mutant tensed his arms—"I read up on it because of Sensei…"

"Always preparing."

"It was a reality," the genius muttered. "I went back and forth between believing it and not."

"Know the feeling…"

"You helped save him, though. He's grateful for that. And you know…"

Melody hesitantly raised her vision, so Donatello smiled.

"He'd love your company tonight. We all would. Just for a few hours, okay? Then you can rest more."

The cyborg gave a long sigh in reply, then a nod. It was as good as any consent, so he helped dry her tears before leading her out of bed.


	55. Heroes

**Chapter 51:** **Heroes**

The Lair brimmed with company, and Michelangelo had to admit…it gave the underground place a warm air. Not that his clan had ever felt incomplete or cold when it had only five members, but something about its expansion, its growth, left the mutant excited.

They needed extra chairs in the living room! One for Raphael and one for Gavin, so each hothead could sit on opposite ends of the weather-beaten sofa and sulk while their wives chatted with April. Sometimes, Splinter would join in the conversation from his armchair. Otherwise, he enjoyed listening to his family and stroking Pez's plated body in his lap.

' _Nia and Splinter, those are his two favorite people in the world. Maybe it has something to do with their calm Chi. Bet he'd like Leo, too._ '

Oh, Leo. Mikey's vision fell on the grand painting hung beside the many televisions, focusing on the Jonin's intense stare.

' _We still haven't gotten any new letters…_ '

"Figo! If you aren't going to help, leave the kitchen!"

The Chūnin spun to met Sophia's puckered face. What danger lay behind it? None. So he grinned, placing his hands over her thin shoulders to rotate their positions.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Hoshi; you're the one by the doorway." Sticking out his tongue, Mikey ducked to avoid any retaliation then twisted until he almost collided with a bright pair of breasts. He caught himself on a dime, regaining composure for the chubby blonde who almost reached his height. "Sorry, Misses Moretti!"

Adeline Moretti's expression was as impressed as her daughter's, and she lifted her round chin in a way only a parent could. "Your kitchen is a disgrace," she said. "So small and disorganized."

Mike gave a shallow nod. "It's been smaller."

"No excuses. You and Sophia, always excuses."

"Don't try fighting her, Figo"—Sophia spoke from behind the mutant—"you'll never win."

"Well, that sort'a explains some things up about you."

"What things?"

"Sophia! Michelangelo!" The two jumped at Adeline's voice, Mikey more so than Hoshi. The middle-aged woman huffed then pulled back her wild, thin hair to realign it in a ponytail. "Food is life. It is joy, a friend, and meant to be respected. Capito?"

"Has she always taken food so—"

The slender blonde cut the mutant off with a matter-of-fact voice, "Seriously? Yes. Yes, she has."

"What does she think about American pizza?"

"È una merda. It's over-priced, lacking in standards, and we make it way better."

"I'll take you up on that later."

"Think I'll be hanging around that long?"

"Attenzione!" Adeline again caught the duo's attention, but not before Mikey returned Sophia's smirk with a wink. Straightening, he met the woman's bright eyes—their frost blue so striking, he could swear she was at war. "We're moving onto the Pasta Ragù. Listen carefully."

* * *

When dinner concluded, only two things were left: a lingering tomato scent and dirty dishes that littered a buffet table so densely, they hid the cloth. Seemed Adeline was relentless in matters of food etiquette. And by that, Michelangelo meant every last bite needed eaten—no excuses. Thank God for Pez!

The mutant chuckled in his chair, patting the little monster on the head with his heel before he left.

"I've never eaten so much in my life," said Nia. She sat crossways from Mikey and burped as Adeline approached behind her.

"Oh, there's more!" she announced, three bowls in her hand. Like an expert, she placed one in front of Raph then Nia then Mia. The women all exchanged a strained smile, but the male must've lacked the energy. He simply paled at the bowl presented to him. "No fruit allergies, right?"

Nia burped again. "I'm allergic to broccoli."

"Really?" Raph asked.

Adeline smiled at the artist's abashed look then handed out more bowls around the table. "It's a light dessert. But coffee is also brewing."

"Hey, Mel"—Mikey sent a smile towards the opposite end of where Splinter sat—"I know you don't like sweets. I'll eat your fruit if you want."

But it seemed another mutant already had the same idea. Donatello glanced up with his fingers in Mel's bowl, chewing.

"Dude!"

Fwap! Donny's fingers drew back with a shake after they had been struck. He looked up at the chubby blonde, who waged a finger, voice stern,

"Are you an animal?"

"Technically, we all are."

Adeline narrowed her piercing eyes until Don picked up his fork, head ducked. "Better."

A round of snickers erupted across the table. Perhaps that is what made Melody's frown look so dreary. Michelangelo wasn't the only one who noticed, either; Nia caught his attention with wounded eyes, drawing them towards the half-redhead when silence settled amongst the group.

"Laughing is acceptable, Mel," Mikey said. "You aren't doing any wrong by her if you—"

"Let's not talk about _her_ ," the cyborg interjected. She held back from delivering a glare, saving it for the fruit bowl, but even if she had directed it, the mutant would feel no less assured about what needed mentioned.

"It's good to talk about her, especially in this group."

"If dinner's turned into an intervention, I'm leaving."

The glare met Mikey full-force now. It made no difference. "We're not intervening. We"—Mikey placed a hand against his plastron—"just want you to know, we understand. Sometimes, in our pain we forget we aren't the only ones who've lost someone."

"He makes fine a point," Mia added. She glanced towards Gavin then the cyborg, licking her parted lips. "I don't think there's anyone here who hasn't experienced loss. So we say from experience, even if it feels otherwise, darkness won't reign forever."

' _That gives me an idea!_ ' Michelangelo sprung from his chair (probably suddenly, according to his audience). He found Splinter's side then asked,

"Can I borrow some things from your room, Sensei?"

Splinter nodded, albeit slowly.

The permission was good enough. Inside Splinter's bedroom, Mikey gathered as many candles as he could possibly carry. Some were hesitant to uproot from their melted position and a few broke in the struggle. However, the variety added a charming factor. He brought them and a matchbox into the living room, to a dilapidated bookshelf Raph had been too lazy to throw out. Using a foot, he pushed that around the television wall until he reached the family portrait.

"What are ya doin', Shell-for-Brains?" Raphael questioned.

"Melody's a visual learner, isn't she?" Silence reigned as Mikey settled the bookshelf below the portrait. "While we tell her things all the time, it doesn't click until we show it. So, I'm gunna show her. I hope a few of you can, too."

"Wh—what do you plan, Mikey-niichan?"

The Nunchaku master dumped the candles beside the bookshelf then sent a smile over his shoulder. "Can you turn out all the lights, except the small one in the kitchen?"

The artist furrowed her brows, but complied.

"Seriously, Numbskull, what're ya doin'?"

"Relax, Raph. I'll explain when Nia gets back." Raph looked ready to pop with frustration, so Mikey added fuel on the fire by smirking until the Lair grew dim. A faint light from the kitchen doorway kept Nia from walking into others and she acknowledged the mutant's thankful nod by nodding back.

"Okay," she said, "so we're almost blind. How does this help?"

"It seems like you're alone, doesn't it, Mel?" asked Michelangelo. He reached for a short, fat candle, convinced by the prodding stares he sensed that they regarded him seriously. "There's so much pain inside that y—you don't know what to do with it. You feel..buried, like standing's a chore. I"—he thumbed the smooth wax—"I get that. It's not a pain you'll forget, either. It will just be bearable, passing. As proof, I want us to light a candle for every loved one who's passed."

Towards the end, Mikey felt his certainty waver. He tried to keep it strong under Christina's memory, but her pale image made him hesitate before raising his vision. Mia responded first. She rolled her wheelchair back from the messy table then met the Nunchaku master. Wordless, she took the candle from his grasp, stopping once she realized an important factor.

"Does anyone have a lighter?"

"Better." Mikey opened the matchbox. "Old school."

"Hey, now," Mia raised a playful eyebrow while removing a match, "I was part of that school. So, how do you want to do this? Just light it or say something or…what?"

"Wh—whatever you want, Misses Anders."

"Please, call me Mia."

"Mia." Mike's smile returned. "If it helps, I'll go first."

Reaching behind him, the mutant's three fingers sought a new candle. It was thinner than the last and he set it upright on the half bookshelf's tallest section before pulling out his own match. A rough scratch sounded before a flame burst from the flammable end. Its heat bit at Mikey's finger tips, but he ignored the irritation and lit the candle wick.

"This is for, uh, Christina Silliman," he about whispered. "When I was taken by Bishop four years ago, she helped me through…a lot. Up until she took a hit for me. To this day, I appreciate the light she helped me maintain within Bishop's hell."

Mia rested a cold hand against Michelangelo's shoulder. They exchanged only a look, though, before Mia's match ignited. She sent Nia a glance then brought the flame to the fat candle beside Christina's, the subtle orange tainting her peachy features.

"This is for my big brother, Brett. I'm sure Nia could sense at that time, we weren't invited to his funeral. I'm disowned by the Johnsons, but…I loved him. We had good times, e—even if he hated me for dating Hugh. Brett never got a chance to turn away from hate. In the end it killed him. And that"—the woman gestured towards Mikey with an open hand, so he guessed her intent by placing a second candle in her grasp—"that came not long after my sister-in-law's suicide."

"Mama—"

Mia held up the broken candle for silence. "We weren't close, but I could tell Amy needed help. No one would believe it, though. They all insisted she was perfect. Maybe if they had admitted to being wrong, Brett would've been so angry and Dustin…Dustin would have his parents."

"I…have a cousin named Dustin?"

"He's fourteen," Mia told Nia. "Holly and Grant won't let us meet."

"Who're—"

"Your grandparents. We'll talk about this later. Okay?" Nia nodded under the brunette's thin tone, so Mia returned her gaze to the flickering lights. "A lot of hate reigned in my childhood, but…there was love as well. Those are the times I remember when I think of Brett."

"So much like my standing when I reflect upon my Master Yoshii." Tender and reminiscent, Splinter's voice floated across the melancholy atmosphere. He joined Mia and Michelangelo, walking without any stiffness as he bent down and captured a candle. He set it beside the others then lit it after accepting a match from his son. "Over two decades have passed since his murder, but he lives on in me. And my children. And the values they teach others."

"Do—do you think one can live on, even when they had no chance teach their child anything memorable?" Nia neared the candle pile with shuffling feet, like she battled her worth to pick one up.

"One's spirit is a powerful force, Nia-chan," the wizened rat answered. His smile prompted the artist to kneel. When she did, she picked up two candles that she placed by Yoshii's. Mikey expected her to squeak with surprise when she lit a match, yet she did so without batting an eye and set fire to the candle wicks.

"Although I—I never knew them, these are for my parents—my biological parents. Whether they forgot me, or were taken away, or didn't want me anymore, I'm thankful. They created something unique, and I hope…I hope in the future I can do something similar."

What'd she mean by that? Like kids? Michelangelo had seen many crazy things in his life, but if Nia hoped to give Raph a family…

' _No, I'll hope with her. Life shoves so many insane things our way, I'm convinced nothing's impossible._ '

"Nothing's impossible, Calza," Sophia added, as if reading the mutant's mind. The blonde sent Raph an impish smirk and judging by his delayed response, he must've been lost in his own thoughts on the matter.

"This room _is_ full of impossibilities," Adeline noted. Her tall, chubby form pushed between Nia and Splinter then knelt at the book case. The candles greeted her with a dance, which she rewarded with a smile before wiggling her fingers in Mikey's direction.

' _Is there something wrong with asking nowadays?_ ' Still, he handed over a candle, scooting sideways so the growing group wasn't so crowded beneath the portrait.

"This light represents my baby girl Cosima." The mutant could practically feel Sophia's sudden anxiety like a knife in his gut as the older blonde continued, "She was only ten. In those ten years, though, my life was filled with such joy and silliness. Soph and I both miss her. But we would never think to rid our pain by wishing she was never born…"

As Adeline's head ducked, Sophia traveled to her mother then wrapped her in a hug her from behind. Even Raphael left his seat. He kept focused on the candles he picked up, pushing through Mikey and Hoshi before rounding Adeline. On a section below the others, near Cosima's candle, he set then lit two more candles. One was very tall, the other petite. Mike had a feeling that wasn't a coincidence.

"These are for David and Ellen Summers," the hothead muttered. "We were strangers, but I think that goes ta show how impactful any life is. I remind myself of that when I'm Patrollin'…"

"Like I keep in mind that even bad guys have legitimate reasons." Donatello tore himself from Melody's scrutiny with some difficulty then picked up a single candle, which he also placed on the lower section. "Charles Kingston," he added as his fire split from his match to the wick, "he wanted Nia at all costs because he longed to save a family he had already lost. He did bad things, not because he was a bad person, but because he was broken. And I stayed with him until he passed away since…I believe no one should die alone."

"You're a good person like that, Donny," said April while venturing towards the crowd. She wiggled through them, pausing for a candle and match, and settled the memento beside Charles'. Its glow warmed the redhead's expression as she stepped towards Splinter, rubbing her arms. "Kirby O'Neil. My dad. You would've gotten along with him."

"I'm sure I would've," the genius replied.

Michelangelo smiled at them all. Here they stood—from all walks of life—tied by a common thread. And yet the group was still incomplete. Two people remained on the outskirts, terribly quiet and stoic in the cold, synthetic light.

They wouldn't stay there, right? They couldn't; his plan had to work.

"Gavin." Mia's voice broke the silence.

Gavin countered her with a hard stare. The near-darkness and glare across his round glasses almost hid it, but his defiance could be sensed. The longer Mia held his gaze, though, the less resilient the defiance became until at last he sighed.

Like a defeated child, he stalked towards the candles, pausing at the dwindling pile. His hands almost picked up three or four before dropping all except one. That he set anywhere on the second shelf. Obviously, he didn't care much about it, yet he lit it. So Mikey considered that a success.

"For Keelan Doyle," he grumbled. "My cousin and… only friend…"

"See?" Michelangelo gave Melody a sincere yet sorrowful smile. "You aren't the only one. All this light comes from people in our past. And we're sharing that light. It's what family does, so…how about it?"

The cyborg didn't budge from where she folded her arms. There were no positive points the mutant could cling to, either. She looked shut-down from head to toe and when she turned away, he couldn't help crying out,

"Come on, Mel, please! Let us help heal you like Tabitha did when you lost your mom!"

Melody sent him a dirty look—more like she was annoyed rather than angry. It lit her half-metal face for all of a second before listlessness returned. Then, she studied the wax pile by Mikey's feet.

"You have lost more than any young woman should have to," Splinter noted. Good; she would respect his input at least. "Melody-san, once we talked about rage and love. Remember?"

The cyborg glanced up, her brow easing.

"I warned you against it. You know where it leads. This"—the rat's paw gestured to those surrounding him—"is a moment for strength. There is nothing you can reveal that would make us recant you as a clan member, so do not fear."

Splinter's gentle reassurance ended with a sigh from Melody. At last, she gave in. Her robotic feet brought her to the candles, which she assessed. Mikey could only assume she was searching for the perfect fit, and when she found it, the mutant was surprised by how she carried four candles. These she placed on the lowest section.

Long seconds passed as she lit them one by one, her voice stained with thick emotion, "I come from a place where people come and go on a daily biases. Yo—you could never count on the homeless always being there, but for these four…these four stayed in my life for as long as they could.

"My mother Gray. She was eccentric and unstable. Still, she never forgot to care for me, to tuck me under newspapers or give me the best parts of her meal. She was absolutely selfless, dependable, someone I wish…I wish was still here.

"Carlos and Fry"—the cyborg paused for a rare smile—"they were my big brothers. Or surrogate fathers. However you want to see it. They cared for Gray because she did so much for me. But then"—the smile faltered, replaced by a scowl—"Purple Dragons killed them. Because of me, because of what I stood for. It fueled my rage in those days. And it nearly consumed me until…"

Glancing at the final candle—a tall, slender one—Melody softened her tone. "Tabitha was the first person I ever wanted to protect. Instead of having someone who protected me. She became m—my best friend, m—m—my— " The cyborg sniffled, trembling worse when Donatello knelt beside her. "My sister. I _should've_ been there. I should've _saved_ her!"

There it was, Melody's breaking point. Michelangelo had seen it once before. Still, it didn't prepare him for the wail she released as Donatello hugged her. The tears that had dried up when she fell asleep returned with a vengeance, and he couldn't blame her for recoiling into in her husband's hold.

"Heroes are never without loss, Mel," said Mikey over her hicks and sniffles. "At one point or another, we'll lose something. But if we stick together as a clan, we'll remain standing. Because if there's one constant in this universe, it's family. So we'll always be there to pick each other up—no matter what…"

The candles represented as much. Their flames were a flickering union of oranges and yellows, one which showed just how close mutants and humans could stand at their weakest points. In the end they were all the same and not one of them thought to mention the smell of burnt coffee while the cyborg mourned.

* * *

 **A/N:** I'll have more comments to make when I post the epilogue. :)


	56. Epilogue

**A/N:** Last bit of the story, ya'll. If you were wondering where the Mikey/Sophia scene was, here it is. Book required a different end than my usual epilogues.

Those two troublemakers. XD

* * *

 **Epilogue**

The full moon loomed over Little Italy, its natural glow muted by the orange smog from New York City. Sophia thought nothing ill about the taint, though; she'd grown up under similar skies. Now, the companion who insisted on following her? He she had only recently grown accustomed to.

"You're totally invited, Hoshi," Michelangelo said, no more than a stride behind her. "The party won't be until the twenty-second. Nia should be off, considering it's _her_ birthday."

"I'll think about it, Figo," Sophia countered.

Using the butt of her Star Staff, she vaulted from the flat-roof she had been strolling along to a higher building, whose tiles were wet with July's consistent thunderstorms. Her boots' grip proved strong as she waited for Mikey to follow suit. He required no effort; arriving by her side with little more than a jump as aid. He smiled when their gazes met through the hazy light, eyes wide behind his bandana mask.

"It's so weird," Soph said.

"What is?"

"You being without your Turtle Titan costume. It's like you're naked."

"Oh!" The mutant stepped back with a hand at his groin and the other against his chest. "How uncouth!"

The blonde's cheeks puffed with contained laughter, but the control fell flat when she continued her walk across Little Italy's rooftops. "Idiota."

"You laughed, didn't you?"

Yes. So she wouldn't respond.

"Wait up!" Mikey jogged a moment until he traveled beside the heroine. "I'd like to wear my outfit too, but it's a little ripped from...you know."

"You think this is the same uniform? No. I have spars. Spending time with you, I've ruined at least two."

"That sounds like something a cartoon character would do."

"Ruin their clothes?"

"Have extras of the same outfits." The silly mutant beamed; Sophia saw it in her peripheral vision. "For me, though, that was the only one. I don't have the money to fix its cowl."

"What needs fixed? That disgusting monster did you a favor by clipping off the cape."

"Hey!"

"I've told you once, I've told you twice: capes are liabilities."

"They're classics."

"Classics that get you snagged on kennels." When Soph gave Mikey a pointed look, her staff's head almost whacked him in the head.

He raised his finger, perhaps in defense, yet it soon fell. "Touché. Guess I shouldn't even mention getting caught in a bus when I was fifteen."

"Oh?" An impish smile spread across the blonde's face. "I would've paid money to see that."

"Ha ha," said Mikey with puckered lips. "Anyways, my time as Titan has passed. Again. I know my real calling is being a Phantom."

"So you Hamatos _are_ the Phantoms." The blonde swung her staff so she could rest her hands on each of its ends. "Why am I not surprised?"

"Because you've seen my killer moves?"

"Is that what they're called? I thought they were like flailing escapades."

"Don't hate me for being an awesome ninja."

"I can't hate you." Sophia's grumble was impaired by the city's constant hum, yet no matter how low she thought she had spoken, it apparently hadn't been low enough.

"Is that a bad thing?"

Although his tone was light, something about it kindled a fire inside the heroine's chest, so she kept her focus on the tiles below her boots.

"If you don't hate me, why won't you stay with my family?"

"In the smelly underground?"

"It's not so bad once you're in the Lair. Donny has an excellent air circulation… _thing_ happening. Besides, you haven't had any luck finding an apartment, right?"

"Misses Anders was kind enough to take us in the meantime…"

"Please? It's been almost two weeks. I miss Cuddles."

Soph couldn't help grinning at how Michelangelo's eyes fluttered. "So? Come visit."

"It's not the same."

"Not the same as what?"

The mutant hesitated as the duo halted their walk. She could see it in his blue gaze; he was searching for a tactful way to make his point. The blonde had no idea why. Her answer would always be the same.

"After what happened at dinner," he said, "with Mel and all…while it was a sad moment, I—I felt a connection with everyone. My clan's growing and…I want you to be part of that growth."

"Then why aren't you pressing Mister and Misses Anders to move in? Or my Mum?"

"Well"—fiddling his thick thumbs, Mike pouted under Soph's raised eyebrow—"space is limited, unfortunately. So if I had to choose which one to keep around more often, I'd choose you."

"What am I, a Pokémon?" Sophia chuckled, which she hoped covered the flattery that riled butterflies in her stomach. Naturally, it didn't.

The mutant looked right through her until his pout morphed into a solemn expression. "Mia and your mom are getting along fine. I—I think Mia enjoys the change. She's been cooped in her house for months, torn from all her friends from before she met Bishop."

"That tends to happen when he gets involved."

"Yeah. Gavin's been her main companion, so I'm not surprised she visits us as often as she can."

"Least she has an option…"

"Do you—?" Cutting himself off with a cringe, Mikey then added, "I mean, do you have friends outside of, well, me?"

"Acquaintances."

"Four years and no one—"

"Mum does better at that stuff. I know a few people I'll go out and drink with. Nothing serious."

"What about in Italy?"

All hope of lightening the mood died with a single word. Brows lowering, Sophia spun her Star Staff behind her until it was held upright in her left hand, where it felt most natural. Then, she stalked ahead.

The mutant groaned before following her to a new roof, his pace matching hers despite a slight limp. "Sophia—"

"I had few friends back then, too." Although she wanted to glare, she settled for clenching her free hand. "It was always my cousins and…Marco."

"D—do I make you think about how we had to…?" Sighing, Mikey's voice grew softer. "I'm just a giant bad reminder, huh?"

"It's not that! It's—I—" The heroine growled as her staff swung with her pent-up anxiety. "He could be an ass. And he had a bad habit of leading me places I didn't want to be. But he didn't deserve that."

"We didn't leave him because he _deserved_ it."

"Why couldn't you have taken us both? The closed door could've kept that thing away long enough."

"Marco," Michelangelo spoke the man's name with a strange respect, "he was adamant about me focusing on you."

"Why? I'm nothing special!"

"We would disagree."

Michelangelo's forthrightness struck Sophia so harshly that she backpedaled as a cold sensation doused the heat in her veins.

"I admit, I distrusted him at first," Mikey continued. "The idea of him being back in your life unnerved me—mainly because he nurtured the soldier part of you I know you don't always want to maintain."

"How would you know?"

"I read people, Hoshi. It's my superpower."

"Apparently, the power isn't fool-proof."

"True…but I know what I feel. You've grown since we first patrolled together. Even Marco could see that. That's why…that's why he wanted me to take you."

"You…" Sophia's words faded, her mind jumbled by thoughts from The Island, Palermo, and the mutant's serious stare. "You two were arguing. The time that monster rammed me in the gut. What…what were you talking about?"

"What I just said. He told me you seemed livelier, at ease. That you had moved on and the next person who should watch over you…should be me."

"Who are you two to determine that? I don't need overseen."

"It's not a matter of needing it. It's a matter of us wanting the role."

Please. Was she a princess? No. If anything, she was a knight. So why did such a warm smile leave her guts in knots? Arms folded, Sophia turned her head and focused on the orange cityscape while Mikey finished his explanation,

"I know we fell short many times in June. I also know from experience that dwelling won't fix matters. The Davu Stone and Marco are in Bishop's hands, and there's no telling what those factors will add to his grand scheme. Still, worrying will only make you miserable."

"Better to be happy and ignorant?"

Mikey shook his head at the blonde's glare. "Not ignorant. You can be happy while preparing for the worst."

"How?"

"My family does it every day. Horrible circumstances are thrown at us, but we can't— _shouldn't_ let them stop us from living. I did my share of that. I can't take anymore. And…I don't want that for you, either."

Michelangelo's smile grew warmer, as did the odd flutter in Sophia's stomach. She had no idea such a thing was even possible, and the sudden urge to kiss the mutant reared like when they had first unmasked. It felt so compelling, in fact, the blonde bit her bottom lip.

"Um, you okay, Hoshi?"

' _Know what?_ ' Soph screamed in her head. ' _Screw it! Maybe if I give in, the temptation will leave!_ '

So, reaching behind Mikey, Sophia stood on her tip-toes then pulled his head forward. Frustration made the kiss a little rough when their mouths crashed together and she meant to keep it short. However, something about his pebbly-textured skin made her linger until her muscles eased and her stomach rose. She felt as if she were falling when she pulled back, nearly shaking when her eyes opened to note the mutant's rich, blue eyes.

Damn, were they hypnotic; even when sheer shock lit them.

"Merda," she whispered while her arms fell. "It didn't work."

"What, uh, wh—what do you mean?" Excitement replaced confusion, giving Mikey's gaze a new kind of light. Before Soph could back away, he caught her waist then pulled her close with a strength she couldn't fight. "Whatever it is, I'm sure we could always try that again."

Why the hell not? At one point, the giddiness would run dry, right? It did a while after dating Marco. So, Sophia was quite convinced she could kiss the feeling away and thus let the mutant take control under the bright moon.

* * *

Reports littered Bishop's mahogany desk from its wide, gloss surface towards its inside lip. A usual sight, yes, but an influx in projects had expanded the load over several months.

' _Act One is still wrapping up, despite the hiccups caused by those so-called heroes._ ' His hand resituated stills from Channel Six's news segment on June Twelfth, his finger loitering beside an aerial shot of three cyborgs on Unfinished Bridge. ' _Agent Zero was supposed to be withheld for a while longer…Little choice, I guess. At least I have others under my belt, like Hall. Seems she will be the one to spearhead Act Two instead._ '

So long as Baxter fixed her up right, what did it matter? Hun's attack on The Island almost crippled his next phase entirely when the heathen invaded the Pods. Fortunately, he had been stopped. Caused massive damaged in the lab—much like that masked turtle in his fight with a Tracker and Rojo—but not withstanding a few injuries of his own.

' _The Forty-Fours and Purple Dragons are now licking their wounds. They no longer understand where their territories lay, since their heads are lost, and my organization has excelled in capturing their members. If anything, their juvenile outburst has strengthened the EPF's reputation. Commissioner Powell even accepted my explanation for Fall's death, although…_ '

The limelight had been shared with two others. Luis Eckley he could tolerate; the fat lard was a pawn anyhow. The fact that he had cleared Hugh Reese's name, however, left the agent embittered.

' _The Hamatos will be found sooner or later. Regrettably, should I put pressure on Reese it would raise questions and an investigation, whether or not I am suspect. He now holds the benefit of the doubt. I will leave him be since the Commissioner will permit me to continue my sweep soon._ '

Meanwhile, a slew of other matters needed met. Doctors Yahna and Biosvert were hard at work on 'Rojo' and their latest captive, Rizzo. The Italian stayed quiet, mainly about Moretti's possible whereabouts and how to wield the Davu Stone, which Bishop now possessed.

Although frustrating, the leader need not rely on his ex-underling's words. Moretti would be found with the damned turtles. Besides, he assigned another scientist to research the Davu Stone. He would discover its capabilities from experience by testing it on a lesser-known prisoner—one with some Languu blood in their veins…

"Bishop, Sir? I have Agent Rook's report from Ecuador."

Without glancing up from the many files on his desk, Bishop accepted the folder Agent Barrett offered. "Thank you."

"The tides have yet to turn, Sir. Rook is barely holding his own."

"Decades of war will not be for naught," spat Bishop. He clenched the folder then glared at its printed title. "Eventually, the K'ekchi will fall. And not long after, so will _them_ …"

* * *

 **A/N:** So much danger is still brewing beneath the surface, boiling hotter and hotter with each book. The K'ekchi are an important tribe, BTW. Just sayin'. ;)

Thus, we've come to the end of yet another _Cause and Effect_ book. It's taken me literally all year to write, and has tried me in so many ways - to the point where I almost abandoned it. I know it may've been pushing the envelope with so much subject matter (hence why it surpassed 50 chapters!), but I hope that just added to its unique tone.

Now, I did miss the regulars from my last book " _Hollow Hearts_ "; I won't lie. However, I'm thankful to those who DID return (like _DuckiePray_ , _Sciencegal_ , _D'Fuentes_ , and _Feather_ ) and for a newcomer _WOLFJADE28_. Thanks for the feedback and encouragement, guys. Hope you enjoyed the ride! And be on the lookout for " _Shift_ " and " _The Distance_ " sometime in 2016, if all goes well. :D


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